


A Book You Read in Reverse

by sophiahelix



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, First Time, High School, Lots of confusing teenage feelings, M/M, Marauders' Era, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-17
Updated: 2007-07-17
Packaged: 2017-10-29 21:01:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 39,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/324137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiahelix/pseuds/sophiahelix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Sixteen is too small for all this. He can't want so many people all at once, tugged in so many directions, and still have anything left for himself.</i> Remus in his sixth year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Book You Read in Reverse

**Author's Note:**

> Epigraph and story title from The Shins song "Pink Bullets."
> 
> This story was originally written and posted just before "Deathly Hallows" was published, under a different pseudonym. A small portion involving Lily Evans is therefore non-canonical.

*****

_Since then it's been a book you read in reverse  
So you understand less as the pages turn_

*****

It's going to happen again. The obvious hint is the growing pile of empty bottles on the floor of the dorm, because nothing ever starts without everyone being thoroughly pissed, but there's also a sort of _charge_ in the air. Remus just knows.

Peter's around tonight, which is unusual. Remus never knows where Peter disappears to on these nights, or what strange motive makes him stay sometimes. He remembers Peter hovering on the edges last time, like every time, and he should feel bad about that except he's always, always too busy worrying about being on the edges himself.

Maybe Peter's chosen to stay tonight because there's someone new, a Ravenclaw fifth-year who followed her dorm-mates up. She's got loads of shiny black hair, and a round, shy face, and Peter seems happy to recline on his bed with an arm over her shoulder, drinking deeply from a cup of watered-down firewhiskey and only occasionally feeling up her tits.

More girls here tonight, Remus thinks. Maybe that's what makes the difference to Peter. He'd never ask, of course, because then Peter would ask what makes the difference to _him_ , as if Peter didn't know already.

Remus chances a swift glance to the window seat, where the heart and soul of the party are deep in conversation, dark heads bent together, clearly drunk. Sirius has got his hand on the back of James's neck, fingertips just disappearing below the collar of James's half-buttoned shirt, and Remus looks away, swallowing hard.

He's getting up for a fourth drink -- or maybe a fifth -- when a commotion breaks out at the far end of the room. He looks in time to see a ginger-haired boy tumbling onto a bed -- _his_ bed -- under the doubled weight of James and Sirius, who are both tickling mercilessly under his arms and laughing like loons. The boy is the Hufflepuff keeper, and Remus knows James and Sirius have been wanting him for weeks, ever since seeing him mid-shower after a hard-won match.

"Should have seen his prick," James said that night, a leer on his handsome face. "It was _enormous_."

"Nah, Moony's an arse man, aren't you?" Sirius said, his eyes hard and twinkling.

Remus could only blush, furious, look away. It never seemed right to talk about these things in daylight, in class, sober.

They're getting their wish tonight, he thinks, watching Sirius pull up the keeper's shirt so James can get at his tight, flat belly, covered with curly red hair. He knows if he watches just a little while longer he'll see James's hand slide lower, maybe Sirius undoing a button or two. Maybe tonight will be the night it goes beyond teasing.

All around the room now the others are starting to draw together in little groups. The four oldest Gryffindor boys are familiar with each other, and any other night Remus would admire the smooth, practiced way they kiss, changing partners with no awkward transitions. Some other night he might even try to work up the nerve to join them, but he's not in the mood now.

A Hufflepuff girl is trading kisses between two of her housemates, and Remus sees that even Peter has taken the initiative with his Ravenclaw, working a few buttons loose on her blouse. Strange, he thinks, the way nothing can ever happen unless James and Sirius do it first, like follow the leader.

Remus gulps down the rest of his drink, wincing at the burn, then refills the cup and retires to James's bed, near the door. He glances around the room again, carefully avoiding his own bed under the window, and realizes he's gotten hard without even noticing. Hard not to be, he thinks with a bit of a smile, when all around him people are kissing, touching, making noises.

Never going any farther, though. He can't quite tell why, but that’s some kind of threshold that no one will cross. Clothes stay partially on and ecstasy remains unachieved, for the most part. He's seen a few boys come almost by accident, too caught up in the moment and too inexperienced to hold back, but no one ever seems to do it on purpose. Just another oddity of being sixteen, he thinks.

He wonders what Slytherins do on Saturday nights. He wonders if there are Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws who find their way down to the dungeons, or if it's just them, alone, playing chess, drinking wine, and thinking up new hexes. It's a queer thought; Remus never thinks about Slytherins very often if he can help it.

Remus shakes his head and drinks more whiskey. This one takes effect, fast, like a warm punch to the gut, and he's finally brave enough to look at his own bed.

They've got the keeper stretched out flat on his back now and Sirius is straddling his leg, kissing him hard, arse wriggling as he grinds against the boy's thigh. James is lower down, mouthing the keeper through his trousers, his own hips thrusting slowly against the bed. He stops for just a moment, turning his head, and looks Remus straight in the eye before turning back.

Remus catches his breath, fingers tightening around the half-empty cup. They're so beautiful, so single-minded when they want someone this way, that it wrenches his heart just to look at them.

_You're in trouble, Lupin_ , he thinks to himself for the thousandth time.

Remus ducks his head and concentrates on finishing his drink. Usually he can make himself wait, if he gets drunk enough, without any of the embarrassing butting-in he used to try. His left hand falls to the crotch of his trousers and he rubs himself softly, absently, as the whiskey takes over and makes his head buzz and spin. Trouble, trouble, trouble.

He looks up again and trouble is there, James sliding onto the foot of the bed. His mouth is red and wet, and Remus can barely breathe. James crawls up his body, knees on either side of Remus's outstretched legs, and the intensity in his eyes pins Remus against the headboard. James looks down, quirking a smile, and takes Remus's hand away, replacing it with his own.

Just before James leans in, Remus sees Sirius, over James's shoulder, giving the Hufflepuff a last kiss as the boy slips down to the floor to join two Gryffindor girls. Then James is kissing him.

God, it never gets old, never gets boring, that hot, wet slide of James's mouth against his. James's tongue in his mouth, demanding, chokes Remus a little even as he groans in helpless, stupid pleasure. James's hand grips him through the thick wool of his school trousers, a little painful, catching a few hairs, but he still bucks up eagerly. James laughs against his mouth at what he can do to Remus with just a few touches, grinding hard and hot against Remus's hip.

And Sirius, almost before Remus wants him, before James alone seems like not enough. Sirius shoving his rough way in, so like his dog-self Remus almost expects a wet nose instead of a warm mouth and nipping, human teeth. James is laughing again, turning his head to bite at Sirius's neck before pushing him away, flat on his back on the bed.

Remus crawls forward to lie on Sirius, relishing the feel of the strong, hard body beneath him, the broad shoulders and muscular arms that draw him down. He kisses Sirius, stubble scraping his face like always, Sirius biting his lip like always, awkward and too much and the only thing Remus wants. At least until James slides in behind them, pulling Sirius's legs apart so Remus lies between them. James thrusts against Remus's arse so that Remus grinds against Sirius, and it hurts almost more than it feels good, but he wouldn't be anywhere else in the world right now except between these two.

And he's so drunk, so dizzy he can barely tell which way is up as he chases Sirius's slippery mouth, trying to get in another kiss. He's sliding down now, and James is leaning in to kiss Sirius, sharing a wicked smile before their mouths meet. Remus's face is buried against Sirius's chest, buttons denting his cheek as James presses down from above. He can feel the rumble in James's ribcage, a big, happy cat-purr of contentment when James begins to thrust again. It hurts more now, with nothing to distract him but the suffocating warmth of being squashed between his two best friends, and he's more relieved than disappointed when James grunts after a minute, coming in shaky shudders against Remus.

James always comes. Remus knows no one else in the room will, but James does, and a few moments later so does Sirius, digging into the tender flesh of Remus's lower belly. He's louder than James, and smothers his moans against James's mouth with slick, wet sounds.

There's a minute or so of heavy, panting silence, while Remus feel rather sick, then James rolls away and Sirius slides out from under Remus. He stays where he is; face down on the bed, fighting the nausea. He hears Sirius laugh, and James leans down to whisper to Remus.

"Thanks, mate," he says, and licks Remus's ear.

Remus lifts his head in time to see them crawl off the bed, heading unsteadily towards a couple of older Ravenclaw girls snogging on Sirius's bed. He puts his head back down again.

 

*****

The shame of it all is that they hardly remember anything the next day. First they're all bloodshot eyes and clutched foreheads, moaning between doses of water and the Muggle aspirin James makes Remus stockpile over the summer hols. Then it's smothered, snorting laughter, professions of amnesia, the display of soiled clothing and love-bites in strange places. And one or the other of them will eventually say it, shaking his head in mock disapproval -- "Wild, that was. Wild."

Remus doesn't know what it is that makes him remember things so well. He thinks it's maybe a werewolf thing, or a half-Muggle thing, or just something peculiar to himself. Sometimes he harbors dark suspicions about the other two, and about the amnesiac properties of well-watered whiskey.

He tries not to think about it during the week. It's difficult enough, managing his prefect duties and beginning NEWT preparation for next year, without the constant distraction of memories. But they come anyhow, creeping up on him like a blush, in the worst of places. It's all been a sort of dream, since this started.

There had always been a few teasing jokes, a few little things that made him wonder about what the two of them did over the summer while he was visiting his grandparents at Blackpool. Then James had the brilliant idea of the Saturday-night gathering, and suddenly, the second night out, after a few drinks and a few games it had been -- _there_. They hadn't been responsible for all of it, of course; the seventh-years had been arsing around with each other for years, everyone knew that, but that was dorm-mate business. James and Sirius had opened it to everyone, though, boys and girls alike, and Remus can't help wondering if it's created as many problems for the rest of them as it has for him.

He can't just let it go, he thinks, and that's his problem. It always has to _mean_ something. If he were a proper man, he'd be able to snog a bit, have a laugh, maybe even get off too, if he were quick enough. Treat it as casually as James and Sirius do, without bringing in any of these messy, absurd feelings.

Somewhere inside, he knows it isn't just that he loves them both so much he's ashamed to even think about it, or that he can't ever decide which one he loves better. It's that they're never going to feel that same way about _him_.

But he can't seem to stop. Every Saturday night, he waits, getting drunker, hoping the magic will happen. Some weeks he avoids them, snogging a pretty Ravenclaw girl he knows carries a torch for him. But they always find him in the end, tackling him, bowling him over with their kisses, their bodies, their presence. And somehow he always believes, if only for a moment, that it's real.

Friendship drove them to study in secret, change their shapes for him; friendship and the promise of forbidden adventure. Yet something more than friendship keeps James and Sirius together, no matter how they play it off during the week, and that's something that can never quite stretch itself wide enough to hold Remus for longer than a drunken minute or two.

He'll take the moments he can get, he thinks grimly. One more thing about being sixteen.

He's escaped to the library again, for some much-needed revision and solitude. Trying to study in the common room means trying to ignore the two of them loafing around, pulling pranks on each other, and flicking jelly babies at Peter's head. Or worse, sitting quietly before the fireplace and whispering to each other, their body language excluding everyone else.

Much better to stretch his legs out in the far corner of the library, under a dusty little stained-glass window with a picture of Barnabas the Barmy teaching the bagpipes to manticores. Better to bury himself in Ancient Runes, which he's woefully behind in on account of spending every weekend either anticipating being drunk, actually being drunk, or recovering from being drunk. And much, much better to stay away from his friends, so they can't distract him with full lips, dark hair, or smoldering looks.

Remus jumps slightly as someone comes around the corner of the far shelves, someone dark-haired and glowering. But the hair is too long even to be Sirius, the figure too stooped and defensive to be James, and he recognizes Severus Snape.

Snape sees him in the same moment, and glowers more, if possible.

"There you are," he says shortly, stopping several feet away. "I’ve been looking for you everywhere."

Remus dreads to think what’s put Snape into such a mood. They’re maintained cordial relations over the years, mainly by combining Snape’s skill in Potions and Remus’s talent for Transfiguration into a mutually beneficial relationship. Usually when he comes after Remus like this, though, it’s for something another Marauder has done.

"Did you need something, Severus?"

“Do you have your portion of the codex translation finished?” Snape asks.

Remus grimaces, trying to cover it. “The what?”

"The codex translation," Snape says, words short and sharp, like he's talking to an idiot, as he brandishes a sheaf of parchment. "Your portion. I thought you were going to finish it over the weekend."

Remus recalls muttering something to that effect last Friday as he hurried out the door, preoccupied as always. "I -- I had other responsibilities to take care of this weekend. I'm -- finishing it right now." He gestures to the book and parchment in front of him, hoping Snape doesn't notice the utter lack of actual translation.

Snape raises one thick brow. "Responsibilities? That's what you're calling it?"

"I beg your pardon?" Remus asks, his heart pounding.

"Lupin, everyone knows what goes on in your dorm on Saturday nights. We've had quite a good laugh over it, along with the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs with enough sense to stay away."

"Stay away from what?"

"Oh, don't let's go into sordid detail, Lupin," Snape says with heavy sarcasm. "Let's just say that if Godric Gryffindor had an ounce of real wizarding pride, he'd be rolling in his grave right now."

"Right, because he was never a teenage boy," Remus says, stung.

Snape laughs, a hard, brutal sound. "Normal teenage boys don't hold depraved, drunken orgies, Lupin."

"What would you know about _normal_ teenagers, Snape?"

Snape gives him a withering glance.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were jealous," Remus says, with sudden intuition. "Would you like an invitation?"

"I wouldn't be caught dead in Gryffindor tower, and you know it," Snape snaps.

"Wouldn't you?"

Snape glares, color rising in his pale face, and steps forward to throw down the parchment he carries in front of Remus. He puts his hands on the table, and leans forward, eyes narrow.

"If you think I want to lower myself to the level of you and your idiot friends -- who, by the way, I hear are quite the pair of queers -- you have gravely misjudged me, Lupin." His voice is low, full of menace. "It makes me sick, if you want to know the truth."

Nose to nose with Severus Snape for the first time in his life, Remus is painfully reminded of the brief flickers of attraction he's experienced over the years. Snape has grown into his large features, and his hands are beautiful, with thin, sensitive fingers. Remus has imagined touching them, from time to time, during an idle moment in class. He swallows hard, his cheeks burning.

"Sick?" he asks, his voice soft. "I think it gets you hot and bothered, Severus."

Snape _looks_ hot and bothered, his hair falling in his face, dark eyes snapping. Remus can see his jaw tighten just before he turns on his heel to stride away.

"Pervert," Snape growls.

"The password's 'blackcurrant' this week," Remus calls after him, exhilarated with his daring.

Snape stops. "Finish that translation by Thursday or I'll hex your balls off," he says, without turning around. And then he's gone.

Remus bends back over his book, shaky and breathing hard. Trouble, trouble, trouble.

*****

The week goes by in a blur of frantic revision and translation, Remus trying to do two weeks of reading in one. James and Sirius laugh at him, their work magically, mystifyingly completed without them seeming to lift a finger, and Peter goes to McGonagall to beg her to let him drop a couple of classes before he fails them utterly. Thursday night, the first snow of winter falls.

On Friday Remus hands in his portion of the Ancient Runes project separately, as Snape won't even meet his glance. It isn't his best work, but it's better than most, and he thinks they'll manage an E in the end. He tries to catch up with Snape after class, but the other boy is gone before he can get there, vanished down one of the endless stone corridors.

Friday night they play a lazy game of gobstones, using a set James's grandmother sent him from Germany which squirts raspberry preserves instead of the usual foul fluid. They all lose on purpose, taking turns trying to catch it in their mouths, and Peter ends up a sticky, grinning mess. Remus has to look away when James reaches over to wipe a glob of jam off Sirius's lower lip.

Saturday morning James and Sirius are out in the snowy air, racing their brooms around the grounds. Peter asks for help with Arithmancy, which McGonagall won't let him drop, and Remus tries to tutor him, distracted every time a figure on a broom whips by outside the leaded-glass windows. He ends up doing most of Peter's homework for him, and Peter shares the care package his older brother sent him for his birthday -- fancy French chocolates and dirty French magazines. They watch the pictures of naked girls dance for a little while, Peter as red as a tomato, and then Remus stands up abruptly, going to brush the sugar from his teeth.

The day is slow, very slow. He doesn't know if he dreads the night, or welcomes it.

The visitors start to trickle in around eight. The younger Gryffindors, guarded against tattling with bribes from Hogsmeade and threats of painful death, retire to the first years' rooms on the bottom floor to engage in childish pursuits. For a moment, Remus thinks about joining them.

He's thoroughly drunk by nine, earlier than almost everyone else in the room. It takes more drinks these days, and he's learned to line them up, throw back the whiskey shot after shot, to get it over with. The effect is geometric, he thinks -- or algebraic. He never can remember the difference.

James has just pulled a ginger girl into his lap -- strange, Remus thinks fuzzily, how he always goes for people who look like the disapproving Lily, absent on these nights -- when there's a knock at the door. Someone giggles, because no one ever knocks, and Remus stumbles over to pull open the door, thinking it must be one of the younger children. _Prefect_ , he remembers, with a terrible twinge of guilt, as he pulls open the door.

It's Snape, of course, and why Remus didn't guess it is beyond him. It's been that kind of week.

Snape looks just as he did in the library, glowering and challenging, but he's pulled his hair back with a leather cord, and he's carrying a dusty bottle of something dark and old.

"Anisette," he says. "More refined, I'm sure, than whatever you're drinking in there."

"I'm sure," Remus mumbles, clutching at the door frame.

"Aren't you going to ask me in, Lupin?" Snape asks, his voice pure ice.

"'Course. C'min."

Remus takes an unsteady step backwards, then another, and ends up sitting on the end of James's bed. Snape comes into the room and it goes terribly, awfully quiet. The same someone giggles again.

"'S’ Snape," Remus says to the room at large. "Just Snape."

Snape actually _bows_ , this nasty, stiff movement, and Remus wonders if he's here after all to take notes for later mockery. Snape glances around the room, every place occupied.

"Sit here," Remus says, patting the bed. "You're _my_ guest, after all."

James catches his eye then, incredulous, and Remus feels his temper rise. It's his room too -- can't he invite whomever he wants?

"Go ahead, Snivellus," James says, with faint irony. "Welcome to the party."

With that, the room relaxes again, and the chatter begins. The master has spoken. James turns to Sirius, a smile spilling over into a laugh, and pulls the girl on his lap onto the bed next to him. Remus sees Sirius laugh before leaning down to kiss her.

The bed dips, and Snape sits awkwardly next to Remus, still clutching his bottle.

"Better drink some of that," Remus says, feeling some of his own buzz evaporating. "Fast."

"This isn't exactly meant for drinking quickly," Snape says. Remus shrugs.

"Drink something," he advises. "Makes it all better."

"All _what_?" Snape asks, but he's uncorking the bottle with a hollow sound, and raising it to his lips.

Remus watches as Snape tips his head back to drink, exposing his slender, pale neck. His profile is in proportion like this, the gathered-back hair falling behind his shoulders, and Remus feels that funny burn again.

Snape puts the bottle down, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Remus looks down, fast.

"So," Snape says, out of breath. "Where are all the girls?"

"Er," Remus says. He glances around the room, looking for his little Ravenclaw, but she's busy with Peter, of all people. "Well, there are never enough of ‘em to go around. You might have to -- wait a little. Or, you know."

Snape raises his eyebrows. Remus nods at the window seat, where two of the seventh year Gryffindor boys are snogging, one straddling the other's lap.

"For once the rumor mill has not exaggerated," Snape says dryly, but Remus hears something else in his voice, breathless and shaken.

"Drink more," Remus says. "Then let me try some."

They pass the bottle between them for a while, Remus trying to place the bitter taste. He thinks it's like black licorice. Everything blends together eventually and the room seems brighter, the sounds muffled and hard edges on everything. Snape sitting next to him is like something he imagined, strange but familiar, like a ridiculous dream that makes perfect sense at the time.

"Ah," he hears Snape say, and turns to see James go down on his back, falling under Sirius. The ginger girl is nowhere in sight, and Remus, drunker than he can recall being, just watches as they get lost in each other. Remus sighs before he's realized it.

He darts a glance at Snape, who is looking not across the room but at him. Remus can't place the emotion on his face, but it's a softer look than he's ever seen.

"They're quite -- " Snape says.

"Yeah," Remus mutters. "Though they'd die rather than admit it sober."

"And you..."

"I'm in there, somewhere. A very tiny part. Bit role, really."

"It's so unnatural," Snape says, shaking his head. "I think -- "

"I think you should shut up," Remus says, heavily. "Because you don't know shit about what you're saying."

Snape looks furious for a moment, but doesn't snap out an insulting reply, for once.

"You're probably right," he says, taking another swig from the bottle. "I’ve never been with a -- bloke, myself."

Remus isn't surprised, but manages not to say so.

"Well," he says instead. "Now's your chance."

In the ensuing silence, he has all the time in the world to realize what that sounds like. He thinks about taking it back, saying something else, but he's so very drunk, and it's so very interesting to watch Snape's face. And by the time Snape gets it sorted out, it seems like the best thing, the only thing to do, really, is to lean forward and kiss him.

Snape tastes like Remus himself, all anisette and dry lips and nervousness. Remus never kisses _anyone_ on his own -- it's always him being pinned down, crushed against bed or wall or best friend. But now it's so easy, so natural to reach out, wrapping his hand around Snape's neck the way Sirius touches James. Snape takes a sort of gasping breath, opening his mouth, and Remus presses in, licking into Snape's mouth. After a moment Snape groans and relaxes into the kiss.

It's wonderful. Snape kisses him back, warm and eager but not sloppy, like Sirius is no matter how many times he kisses Remus. Snape's hand is on Remus's shoulder, tentative, and he's getting the hang already, damned fast learner. Remus feels the blood rising in his head and elsewhere, making him want to push Snape down, just _have_ him. Snape's wrapping both his arms around him now, and their mouths fit together like Remus has never fit with anyone, like James and Sirius do, and oh _God_ , Merlin, _whoever_ \--

Snape does the unthinkable and pulls away, breathing hard and looking stunned. Remus only looks at him for a moment before pulling him back in again for another crushing kiss, their lips swollen and wet. He's hard now, painfully so, and he fumbles for Snape's hand, puts it over the bulge in his trousers. Snape makes a noise against Remus’s mouth, a shudder going through him, which turns into a smothered cry as Remus pushes him backward, onto the bed.

It's so good to be the one in control here, kissing Snape everywhere he can reach -- biting along his jaw, sucking hard enough to leave marks on his neck. Snape is even slighter than Remus, the bones in his hips jutting out, his ribs prominent beneath his thin shirt when Remus runs his hands over them. Snape arches under him, gasping, and Remus grins, realizing he's ticklish. He does it again, scratching lightly with his fingernails.

He takes his time, touching, exploring, unbuttoning Snape's shirt a little to kiss and lick at the salty skin beneath, the fine downy hair. This doesn't feel like a game, or a show for other people. It feels like the two of them in their own private world, lost as they kiss again and again. He lifts up for a moment to look, to try to believe this is really happening, and Snape pulls him down with a hand in his hair, giving a little moan that makes Remus smile against his mouth.

Remus shifts, and suddenly they're aligned differently, Snape hard against him. Remus moves his hips and Snape moans again, bucking up. Remus hasn't done this before but it's not hard to work it out, timing their thrusts so that the white heat builds. Snape's hand is on his arse, his kisses fiercer, and when Remus looks at him, catching a breath, there's a beautiful sort of abandon in his face.

The soft, lazy kissing is over and Snape's gasping for breath beneath Remus now, hips meeting Remus's thrusts. Once they meet with such force that Remus has to muffle a groan against the place where the muscles of Snape's shoulder meet his neck, breathing in the smell of sweat and laundry soap.

They're making a lot of noise. They're close, very close. The second realization overrides the first, and as the pleasure rises, Remus hopes fuzzily that James and Sirius are making enough of a show of themselves that no one notices them in the corner.

Snape comes first, with a bit-back cry that shakes his whole body. Remus feels that wet heat and nothing can hold him back; he keeps thrusting, _hard_ , as Snape holds onto him and the orgasm hits, curling his toes, making him whimper as he rides it out. He's a little ashamed it was so fast, he thinks, sinking down, but then, there might be a next time.

He fades out for a bit, until the little white spots everywhere resolve themselves into a world. His head is buzzing like the telly aerial at home in a storm, back when he was a little boy. He's lying half-across Snape, soaked through with sweat, and all around him people are laughing and talking and snogging. He jerks his head up, colliding with Snape's nose, but everyone's just engaged in their usual activities; no one at all has noticed them.

Snape rubs his nose. "Watch it," he hisses, his voice pinched. "That hurt."

"Sorry. Why are we whispering?"

"I don't know."

They look at each other for a moment. Snape looks hesitant, so open and vulnerable it hurts.

"That was -- "

"I should go."

Remus feels sick; the familiar feeling of being left. He clutches at Snape's arm as the other boy starts to get up, rearranging his clothing.

"Wait -- don't. Sna -- Severus -- "

"I have to," Snape says, pulling away and sliding off the bed. He picks up his bottle of anisette and hunts around for the cork. "It's late."

"You don't have to go. Lots of people stay the night, half of us are prefects anyhow -- "

Snape straightens up and looks down at Remus. "I have to go. It's better for both of us."

Remus catches his breath, then glances over toward the window. James is otherwise occupied, but Sirius is giving him a puzzled look.

"All right," he says, looking back up at Snape. "Just -- " he reaches forward, under guise of pulling the bottle away, and squeezes Snape's hand. "Please, don't go all queer on me after this." He tips his head back to take a swallow from the bottle.

"I should think that's already happened," Snape says, a touch of the old irony creeping back in his voice.

Remus half-chokes as he brings the bottle back down. "I didn't mean -- just don't -- "

Snape takes the bottle back, meeting Remus's frantic eyes. "I know." He pulls his robe off the hook by the door, and goes out.

*****

They tackle him when everyone has gone home. That never happens; they like to go on after him to some other conquest. They never do it when it's quiet and dark, alone, when it might mean something.

Peter is snoring heavily on his own bed, and Remus realizes he's still lying on James's bed when he wakes up to James's tongue in his ear.

"Wakey wakey, Moony," James whispers.

"Sorry," he mutters into the pillow, throat dry. "I'll get off."

"What a lovely idea," Sirius whispers into his other ear.

Remus gasps, both at the unexpected voice and at Sirius's hand dancing over the flies of his trousers.

"Better get him undressed for bed, Padfoot," comes James's amused whisper, and Sirius jerks Remus's zipper down.

He's instantly, shamefully hard, poking out into the cool night air, and he can't believe how embarrassed he feels to be naked with them. They've showered together a hundred times, traded drunken kisses since September, but this is different somehow. James bends to kiss him, and there's whiskey on his breath, fresh and pungent. Remus feels a wave of disappointment; it isn't real, again. He remembers Snape, just a little while ago, drunk but _there_ , wanting to be with him alone. Then all thoughts are wiped away, as Sirius's hot, wet mouth slides onto his prick.

James swallows Remus's cry of surprise, pushing his tongue in. Remus feels dizzy, the last remnants of alcohol making it all seem more dreamlike than usual. Sirius is _sucking him_ , tongue slippery-soft and warm, and he's clearly done this before and when did _that_ happen, and what happens when they go off together and come back smiling...

Remus can't think. Sirius makes a noise low in his throat and Remus echoes it, the moan lost against James's lips. This is it, they're really going to let him come with them, for the first time. He feels his body stiffening, his back arching as the orgasm builds like wildfire, which is when Sirius takes his mouth away.

"Wanna try?" he whispers.

Sirius rolls over on his back and Remus finds himself crawling down Sirius's body like always, his heart pounding. Sirius pulls open his trousers and yanks his prick out, a mottled dark red, circumcised, and so different that Remus freezes for a moment before taking a deep breath and putting his mouth around it.

"Teeth," Sirius hisses, and Remus tries to get the hang of it. James is at his ear, whispering help, fingers raking through Remus's hair.

It feels so strange, all that soft, warm skin over hardness, but soon he's learning, as he licks and tastes. Sirius is moaning and cursing, and James always says the best thing about having Peter as their roommate is that he can sleep through anything at all.

Sirius tastes salty, not unpleasant, and Remus starts seeing how far down he can swallow him, trying to get him, full and tight, into the place at the back of his throat. James is unbuttoning Remus's shirt now, sliding it off his shoulders. Sirius's hand moves to grip the back of Remus's neck, his voice husky and too loud when Remus manages to take him in deeper.

"God, Sirius, the way you look..." James whispers behind Remus, and he hears the jingle of James's belt.

"James," Sirius manages, his fingers digging into Remus's shoulders now. James bends to kiss Sirius, the metal of his belt buckle cold against Remus's back where his shirt rides up. Sirius tenses, bucking up into Remus's mouth, and Remus can't breathe for a moment.

"Wait," James says, pulling away. "Wait, wait..."

Remus is trying to catch his breath, licking up and down the length of Sirius's prick, when James reaches forward and slides Remus's trousers and pants down to his knees. Remus pulls his head back, and Sirius groans in complaint.

"James -- " Remus tries to ask.

"Shh, Moony, it'll be good, I promise," James says quickly, mouth wet at his ear. "Sirius, get the -- "

Remus hears Sirius pull open the drawer of James's nightstand, and James reaches forward to take something. Sirius puts his hand on Remus's shoulders, drawing him back down.

"James is brilliant at this," Sirius says, breathless. "You'll see."

Remus opens his mouth for Sirius to thrust into again as James runs his hands down Remus's arse. It feels nice, a little tickly, James's nails a little rough. Then James touches him somewhere very strange with a cold finger and Remus jerks away, making a noise of protest.

"Shh," James hisses. He presses forward with one slick finger, and Remus's head spins again. James pushes in two fingers. Remus whimpers, unsure.

"Moony," Sirius whispers. "James, touch him. It'll help."

James's hand is on Remus's prick then, calloused but wonderful, and when James begins to stroke him Remus groans, getting an answering groan from Sirius. James keeps stroking him, and it's almost enough to make Remus forget the strange way he's being stretched, and what he realizes dimly is about to happen.

Sirius bucks his hips, neglected and impatient, so Remus starts to suck him again, working his tongue over the head of Sirius's prick. James has got in three fingers now, almost but not quite pleasurable. When he pulls them out, Remus shudders.

There's a pause, then Remus hears James taking down his own trousers, slicking himself. He realizes he's breathing fast and shaky, heart pounding with nervousness.

"Ready?" James whispers.

Remus tries to answer.

"Yes," says Sirius, and James pushes in.

It feels unbelievably wrong, tight and painful, and Remus gasps, letting Sirius's prick fall out of his mouth altogether and clutching at the blankets beneath him. James's fingers are tight on his hips as he shoves forward without stopping, until he's pressed right up behind Remus, biting his bare shoulder.

"I -- " Remus pants, trying to adjust to the overwhelming sensation of _James_ , hard and hot, filling him completely.

"Relax," says Sirius, threading a hand into Remus's hair. "Concentrate on something else." He guides Remus's head down, back onto his wet prick, and Remus opens his mouth to take it in again.

"Go – got to move," James groans. Remus feels the head of James’s prick twitching inside him, James's breath hot on his neck.

"Do it," Sirius says, his eyes fluttering closed as Remus sucks him.

" _Relax_ ," James gasps to Remus, as he pulls out and thrusts back in again.

He tries. He concentrates on sucking Sirius's prick, warm and throbbing now, except it's hard to breathe with Sirius bucking up into his mouth and holding his head steady. He tries to relax but James is speeding up, beginning to really fuck him, and holy Merlin, he's being _fucked_. He's never imagined this, not even in his dirtiest fantasies. It's like some feverish dream he's forgotten he had: the darkness, his head spinning, the three of them moving at jackhammer pace, all pulsing blood and gasping breaths. His own prick feels neglected, and he wishes he had something to thrust against.

He moves away from Sirius to ask James to touch him again, but Sirius pulls him back, cursing, as James's hips slam forward. Remus groans on one hard thrust and Sirius slips down his throat. Sirius gasps James's name, and then he's coming in thick hot gobs. Remus swallows half of it almost by accident, then pulls back, and the rest hits his chin and drips down his chest.

James pushes him forward onto Sirius with a groan and fucks him harder, getting purchase with his knees on the bed, which squeaks beneath them. It's starting to feel better, especially now that Remus's prick is being rubbed against the mattress. He takes in a shaky breath and begins to move his hips, trying to match James's rhythm. Pleasure shoots through him, the shallow angle shifting James's thrusts, and he's starting to get close when James comes inside him, a startlingly wet sensation, James’s shout muffled against Remus’s shoulder.

They're all panting, Remus feeling trapped and sweaty beneath James. Sirius's knee is digging into his side, and his jaw aches. James rolls over onto the bed, after a minute, and the cool air is a shock to Remus's damp skin, making him shiver. James and Sirius look at each other over his shoulder and laugh quietly.

"Did you get off, Moony?" James whispers.

"Um," he mumbles against Sirius, feeling his prick twitch against the sheets.

"Hang on, mate," James says, and pulls Remus upright, kneeling back against him. He grasps Remus's prick and jerks him fast. Remus writhes at the harsh touch, the pleasure a fiery burn, and comes in a few seconds, feeling as though it's wrung out of him with a groan that leaves him breathless, boneless.

James aims so that Remus's come lands on Sirius, who sits up with an affronted "Oi!", and James laughs again.

"Better for everyone now," he smirks, letting go of Remus. Remus slumps forward, barely missing Sirius.

Sirius surveys the damage. "Awful mess you've made of your bed, Prongs," he whispers in mock disapproval. "Dunno what the house elves will think."

"They'll think Remus Lupin is a very naughty boy," James whispers back, sliding off the bed. "A naughty boy who invites Slytherins to parties where they aren't wanted."

"Come on, let's take his bed then," says Sirius.

The two of them go to Remus's bed, still snickering. Remus manages to pull one wet sheet over himself, and falls asleep almost instantly.

*****

He avoids them all the next day. He's hungover and sore, and he thinks he'll die from shame if he has to look either of them in the eye. That, or kill them as they lounge about, complaining of headaches and making jokes about Slytherin sexual appetites.

They don't actually know, he thinks, settling himself in his usual corner over the library with a stack of books and the rest of the aspirin. They’re always too wrapped up in each other to pay attention anyone else for very long. He doubts they’d notice if he fucked the entire Slytherin house on James’s bed.

_Fucked_ , he thinks, the blood gone icy in his veins. For once the previous night is a blur of darkness and tangled limbs, sweat and kisses, and he can scarcely remember any individual moment. Except the moment, of course, when Severus Snape let Remus pull him into his arms.

Sixteen is too small for all this. He can’t want so many people all at once, tugged in so many directions, and still have anything left for himself. And besides, he thinks dully, it doesn’t really matter -- all of them leave him in the end.

He wants to think of last night as something special, James and Sirius letting him in at last. He remembers James’s hands at his hips, Sirius’s hands in his hair, tries to see tenderness in it. All he can feel is his shameful flush at what they did together, their bodies taking pleasure in the same hasty, rough, drunken way as always.

And Snape? He flushes even more when he remembers that furtive eagerness, no less drunken but somehow softer. He can’t imagine what he was thinking, inviting an enemy into their very room, let alone snogging him, getting off together. It’s that bloody whiskey, he thinks, rubbing at his dry, scratchy eyes. Nothing but trouble.

It isn’t long before he’s interrupted at his half-hearted Charms revision, and truthfully, he came here knowing he would be. Snape walks casually around the corner of the shelves, like he just wandered here by accident, and Remus gives him a sidelong, wary glance.

Snape stops, more hesitant than Remus has ever seen him, rubbing at his temples. He opens his mouth, then shuts it again.

Remus doesn’t say anything.

“Lupin,” Snape says at last.

“Aspirin?” Remus asks.

Snape looks puzzled, so Remus rattles the bottle on the table next to him. “Muggle remedy for hangover. It’s got willow bark, I think.”

“Analgesic properties,” Snape mumbles. “A similar effect is found in the flowers of the meadowsweet.” He steps forward, one hand extended. Remus shakes a few pills into it, and Snape swallows them dry.

“You’ve got a beast of a headache, I should think,” Remus says. “You don’t drink much, do you?”

Snape shakes his head, then grimaces.

“You seemed a lightweight,” Remus goes on, keeping his voice deliberately casual. “Hardly took anything to get you drunk.”

“Is that what you did?” Snape asks, heat creeping into his voice. “Got me drunk?”

“You brought the bottle.”

“You told me to keep drinking.”

“Didn’t hold it to your lips and force you, did I?” Remus blushes when he says _lips_ , and he knows Snape sees it.

Snape doesn’t say anything, but he goes red too, a dull, angry flush.

“Look,” Remus starts to say, feeling a stab of guilt, when Snape turns on his heel and stalks out.

“Fuck off,” Snape says coldly. Remus can’t think of a single thing to say that would bring him back.

*****

Three weeks go by before Snape will so much as speak to him again, and then it’s only to say necessary things in class. Remus eventually stops trying to apologize to him in an urgent undertone during the chaos of double Potions, because Snape inevitably picks up his half of their assignment and walks off. Remus reflects glumly that Snape must be furious indeed if he’s willing to risk getting a bad Potions mark.

The Saturday parties continue. The hols are right around the corner, and James and Sirius have been very busy putting aside a store of sweets and drinks for the end of term party. James has also been making his annual effort to buy Lily Evans the ultimate Christmas present, swearing he’ll top even the exploding knickers he got her last year.

The… _thing_ hasn’t happened with them again. He’s been snogged by Sirius in passing, but that almost seemed like a distraction from boredom while Sirius’s favorite Hufflepuff girl was snogging someone else. James makes the same lewd comments when he’s drunk, his lean brown hands reaching to out to slap Remus’s arse or tweak his nipples through his shirt, but nothing ever comes of it. He’s being to wonder if he really did make the whole thing up.

Remus is staying at the school for Christmas this year, alone out of all the Marauders, since his parents have gone to America for some kind of librarian conference his mother’s been sent to. Sirius goes to James’s now, while Peter’s family has a standing obligation with an elderly great-aunt, and they’ve each extended him an invitation which he’s politely refused. The truth is that he’s rather horrified by the amount of work he has left over from this term, and knows he won’t get a word of reading done if he’s being distracted by James and Sirius or bored by Peter’s auntie.

It’s hard not to feel a little regretful, though, imagining the fun he might be having at James’s for Christmas. His parents are the best type of old wizarding stock, well-off but not too proud, modern enough to have a few Muggle devices about the place but still amusingly old-fashioned in some of the questions they ask. At Remus’s house all the most obvious wizarding objects and books are locked away from Mum’s friends and the neighbors, with only a few innocuous things like Remembralls left out as curios. It’s comforting to spend time in a house that’s squarely in one world, instead of always divided.

And of course there would be James and Sirius too, and doesn’t his face flame to think of what they might get up to together, all of the Potter family’s estate to roam and the whole attic guest quarters to themselves. On previous visits they’ve used the advantage chiefly to plan pranks on James’s little cousins and experiment with the Muggle weed Sirius had mysteriously procured in London, but he knows it would be different this time.

Or perhaps not different at all, or worse than that – James and Sirius disappearing off alone and him stuck making small talk with Mr. and Mrs. Potter and covering the others’ absence. He thinks he’ll take the silence of empty Hogwarts over _that_ possibility. And besides, the full moon is Christmas Eve this year, and he doesn’t fancy asking for accommodations in a locked shed, nor explaining to the Potters for the first time exactly why he needs it.

Classes finish for the term and everyone is up in the common room immediately after dinner, anxious to see what’s been planned. Remus walks a little slower than everyone else, thinking he might catch Snape somewhere in the corridors and offer a little traditional holiday groveling, but he’s nowhere in sight.

When he gets up to the tower, Peter is spinning red ribbons from the end of his wand, one eye squinted closed in concentration, and Sirius is spooning out punch for two first-years, who stand, speechless and clutching their mugs, as he charms them with a wink. James has decreed the younger students can stay until ten. “And then,” he glares, “to bed, unless you want to explain to your parents why you’ve turned purple overnight.” Remus wonders sometimes why he bothers to keep up the pretense of being Gryffindor prefect at all.

He takes a seat on the lumpy end of the sofa, brushing biscuit crumbs off the velvet before he sits. It’s hard to feel in the holiday mood, he thinks, with that mountain of work ahead of him, and no one to help with the tricky bits. He’s grown so used to looking over Snape’s shoulder, reading his cramped handwriting out of that messy book of his, that it’s sobering to realize how little he really knows about Potions and Ancient Runes on his own.

The room is getting crowded and noisy as more people arrive from the other houses; younger students as well. Not a single Slytherin though, and Remus wonders exactly what Snape told them. Nothing at all, most likely, given Snape’s own part in the evening, but it wouldn’t be out of character for him to lie, either. It would help explain just what indecipherable, nasty things Mortimer Parkinson was hissing at Remus last week in Potions, while the rest of Morty’s little group sniggered.

Doesn’t matter, he thinks to himself, wishing he could have a drink already. Being pissed in front of the younger students isn’t exactly what he needs to round out this lurching mess of a term, but it would be better than sitting here brooding.

The cushion next to him dips and squeaks, and he looks over to see Lily, stretching out her slender white arms on the back of the couch as she reclines. She gives Remus a soft, rueful smile, which he returns. James will never know that Lily was Remus’s first, terrible kiss (mistletoe, Christmas, third year), or about the brief series of increasingly awkward snogging sessions that followed, and Remus forgets it himself most days, but the bond between them has never really broken, just stretched and altered shape. There’s a sort of understanding between them that he can’t quite explain, but it’s always welcome.

“Rough term?” she asks, raising her voice over the din.

He rolls his eyes, shrugging his shoulders. “Could say that.”

Her smile is tighter this time. “You’re better than this, Remus. You know that.”

More evidence of the school gossip that spreads like wildfire; he wonders how much she really knows, and how much of it is lies. There isn’t really anything to say, so he shrugs again, looking away.

“I mean, you know what I think about it.”

”Yeah, message received, Lily,” he says. “I think it was the time you threw a whiskey bottle at Peter’s head that did it.”

“It was Sirius,” she says, frowning. “I would never throw anything at Peter.”

Remus shrugs. “You don’t need to say anything else. I know.”

“Maybe I _do_ ,” she says. “Since you’re clearly ready to throw away your education for those two idiots. You haven’t had a right answer in Charms in a month, and you haven’t read for Runes with me all term.”

He looks back at her, too tired to summon up much anger, but angry enough. “I mean it, Lily. I don’t need this from you. Go moralize at Peter.”

Her pale face goes pink, and she looks around before answering. “It’s not Peter I’m worried about. He’s more … normal.”

Remus gives her a scathing look.

“I don’t mean that,” she hurries on. “Not _normal_. Just – you know it isn’t only the drinking that worries me. I hate to see you so -- _degraded_. And all for – for – “

“Yeah, well, I know what you think about James,” Remus says dryly.

Lily turns a darker shade of pink, and she drops her gaze. “Well, yes…”

Something clicks for Remus. “Lily, are you _jealous_?” he asks incredulously.

“No!” she answers, too fast. “You’re right, you know what I think about James – “

“You are,” Remus says. Lily heaves a sigh.

“I feel left behind,” she says, her green eyes as direct and open as always. “Our class used to be close, you four boys and we five girls. Gryffindors forever, ta-ra, you know. And I could always… count on James, I suppose, even when he was being an idiot. Now I don’t know what to think.”

“So you pick on me,” Remus says. Lily shakes her head, hard.

“Not _pick_ on you. But Remus, you must see how much on the outside you are. You’re just a bit of fun for them. Even I can see it.”

Remus feels sick, like his stomach is turning inside out, and wishes harder than ever for a drink.

“And what about them?” he asks harshly, shame making him cruel. “You pity me because I’m left out, but where does that leave _you_?”

Lily’s face darkens. “I don’t know anymore,” she whispers. “I wish I did.”

The cruel moment passes, and Remus feels guilty instead. He puts a hand on Lily’s shoulder with an apologetic smile.

“They’ve got us good and proper, going and coming, haven’t they?”

She nods. “Bastards, all men.”

He makes a noise of jesting protest, and a shadow falls across them.

“Oi, moving in on my girl, are you?” James asks. “I’ll show _you_.” Remus gasps as James upends a cup of punch on his head with a laugh.

“Oh, grow _up_ , Potter,” Lily huffs, standing up. “Honestly, sixteen and as stupid as the day you came to Hogwarts.”

”The way you like me, Evans,” James says, waggling his eyebrows at her. Lily shoves him back, but as she turns away Remus catches the hint of a tiny smile.

“I’ll get you a towel, Remus,” she says, and stalks off in high dudgeon. Remus looks up at James like an idiot, cold punch dripping into his eyes and down his back.

“Sorry, mate,” James says with a grin, throwing himself down on the couch. “Chivalry, impressing the ladies and all that, you know.”

“I’m sure you could have found a less _messy_ way of impressing her,” Remus says. “At least one that didn’t involve a change of clothes for me.”

James’s grin changes suddenly, and he leans in close, sliding his arm along the back of the couch just as Lily did a few minutes before. It feels different this time, though, _dangerous_ , as Remus senses the closeness of James’s warm body.

“Need any help with that, Moony?” James whispers, his voice low and wicked, and something twists in Remus’s belly. “You’re right – we really should get you out of these wet things…” His other hand goes to the top button of Remus’s shirt, and Remus hitches in a breath, hating himself for the way his body responds to James.

“Remus?” Lily asks, an uncertain note in her voice. Remus jumps, and looks up to see her holding out a red, monogrammed towel.

“Lovely, Lily, thanks,” he stammers, snatching the towel from her hand and beginning to dry his hair vigorously with it. “I’ll just pop up and change into something this nitwit hasn’t already destroyed.” He squirms away from James and presses by Lily, aware as he goes of the hurt look on her face.

He takes the dorm stairs two at a time, heart pounding. James wasn’t even _drunk_ , he thinks, and wonders what the hell that means. That James knew what he was doing, or that he doesn’t even need alcohol now to play with people’s hearts?

From the top of the stairs he can see James talking to Lily, who seems suddenly shy, twisting her hands. James keeps his arm where it was on the back of the couch, and after a minute reaches up to grasp Lily’s wrist. To Remus’s shock, she lets herself be pulled down, although she sits upright, primly, careful not to touch James. He leans in with that familiar grin, a hand going to his hair, of course, even though he’s nearly lost that habit. Only the best tricks for Lily.

He’s surprised at the bitterness he feels. James’s obsession with Lily oscillates between the absurd and the pathetic, but it’s never been a serious thing; Lily was too good for him, untouchable. She’s dated only older boys, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs with good marks and sober eyes, nothing like James. She wasn’t supposed to _fall_ for him.

But she’s done just that, he thinks, watching the way her stiff posture melts just a little, the longer she sits next to James. Somehow the unimaginable is happening. She and James will be Heads next year – no use fooling himself that he’ll manage it after his performance this term – and then they’ll spend time together, grow closer…

Doesn’t _matter_ , he thinks, feeling like it’s the hundredth time. James is his friend, sloppy kisses in the dark, nothing more, and if anyone should be feeling left out here it’s Sirius.

He looks around for Sirius then, expecting to find him in the center of a group of people, dancing to the roaring music or casting ridiculous charms, but instead he’s folded like origami into one of the ancient wooden chairs under the window, knees tucked up. He’s staring straight at James and Lily, and Remus thinks that if his own face looks anything like Sirius’s, it’s no wonder that Lily can read him like a book.

It’s all too tender and raw, the hurt thrumming like a plucked string, and Remus goes to change his shirt. It’s going to take more than few drinks to make it through this night.

*****

It takes everyone bloody _ages_ to clear off, so that the grey light of winter dawn is just starting to show through the eastern windows by the time it’s just the four of them again. Remus is stretched on his own bed, for once, when the door shuts behind the last of them.

The imminent holidays have made everyone’s blood boil, he thinks blearily. He recalls at least five or six different people joining him at some point in the evening, bringing kisses and drinks, although none of them were James or Sirius. He swears he even saw _Lily_ in the room at one point, dancing with a butterbeer bottle in her hand and something sparkling round her wrist, but that’s mad. He’s going right off alcohol for the entire holiday, he promises himself.

Remus dozes a little as the sun rises, and awakens to the sound of slamming doors and raised voices. It isn’t a row, he realizes; the train leaves soon and half the school is too hungover to move. He opens his eyes to see Peter hop across the room, one pale leg jammed into a pair of trousers, while Sirius shoves clothes into a small trunk on his bed. James is nowhere to be seen, but his bed is mysteriously made, his trunk perched on top.

Peter finishes dressing himself and scrambles out the door for breakfast, tripping over a shoelace. Remus closes his eyes again, the bright light making them water. He hears Sirius’s trunk slam shut, and waits for the sounds that let him know he’s alone in the room.

Instead the floorboards creak, and the bed dips as Sirius sits on the end.

“Moony.”

“Mmph,” he manages.

“ _Moony_.”

The room darkens and he opens his eyes to see Sirius leaning over him, his hands coming to rest braced on the pillow under Remus.

“What is it?” Remus asks, his mouth thick and dry.

Sirius doesn’t say anything, just studies Remus’s face with a frown. Remus can’t quite make out the expression in Sirius’s dark eyes, but it doesn’t bode well.

“Do you love him?” Sirius asks in a low voice.

“What?”

“The way you look at him. I know you feel like I do.” Sirius is looking at a point above Remus’s head, so that Remus can’t meet his eyes.

“I don’t – “ Remus starts to say, but Sirius shifts until he’s crouched over Remus’s body, kneeling on either side of him.

“We could be good together,” Sirius whispers, suddenly ducking to kiss Remus’s neck. “The three of us. He’s happy when you’re there.”

Sirius’s body is warm and his kisses are soft. Remus can’t help responding, arching his back, even as he hears the pain in Sirius’s voice.

“Sirius…” Remus breathes. “We – probably shouldn’t – the others – “

Sirius ignores him, kissing up and down Remus’s jaw, licking his ear. Remus groans and turns his head away, bringing up his hands to push at Sirius’s chest.

“Sirius, stop,” he says. “You’re – “ He’s about to say _you’re drunk_ , except he realizes that for the first time ever, it isn’t true.

It doesn’t matter what he thinks, because Sirius easily overpowers him and bends down, catching Remus’s mouth in a kiss. Sirius’s lips are dry, and it doesn’t quite feel right, but Remus is helpless nonetheless, kissing back as his hands clutch at Sirius’s shirt. It’s bloody pathetic, this, the two of them snogging as if they weren’t both thinking of someone else, but like always it’s so easy to slip into the rhythm of pleasure.

Remus lets Sirius stretch out on top of him, pulling him down even, until they’re pressed together. His morning erection is still tender, but he lets Sirius move against him. It feels good to be wanted, and he’s ashamed to realize how much he needs that. Sirius whispers in his ear _so good together_ , his lips wet and warm now, swollen by kisses. He nips Remus’s earlobe, making him hitch a breath.

There’s a noise at the door and Remus jerks his head to look, digging his fingers into Sirius’s shoulders.

“Morning,” says James.

Sirius lifts his head, slowly, and glances over. James is lounging against the doorway with the kind of relaxed insouciance that drives every girl in school but Lily Evans wild, but his smirk seems harder, fixed somehow.

“Having a farewell snog?” James asks.

Neither of them answers. Remus can feel his face growing hot, and he can’t meet James’s eyes.

“Could say that,” Sirius says at last, his voice casual with a dangerous undertone. “Me and Moony -- ”

“You and Moony what?” James asks, and Remus hears the uncertainty in his voice this time. He takes a step into the room, making Remus’s heart leap. The three of them, together, sober in the daytime…

Whatever might have happened next is cut short by the sound of pounding feet echoing on the stairs outside. Remus shoves Sirius off him by instinct, and rolls onto his stomach just as Peter shoves past James.

“Fucking train’s _early_ ,” Peter bellows, oblivious, and kneels to drag his trunk out from under the bed. “I haven’t got a bloody thing packed, and I still can’t find my mum’s present!”

Sirius, uncharacteristically, jumps up to help Peter corral his belongings, and Remus sits on the edge of his bed, trying to pull his clothes straight. James hasn’t moved from where he’s leaning in the doorframe, arms folded across his chest.

“Er, is there any breakfast left?” Remus asks.

“Some,” James says, his expression unreadable. “Better get down before the bloody Hufflepuffs eat it all.”

Remus stands up slowly and walks to the door. James doesn’t budge.

“Can I get by, please?”

“First Lily,” James says thoughtfully. “Now Sirius. Tell me, Remus, are you going to take up Quidditch next?”

Remus’s temper blazes then. “Fuck off, James. Take your head out of your arse for five seconds and think about someone other than yourself.”

He shoulders by James with a hard shove, and turns around on the landing.

“Happy fucking Christmas, you prats,” he shouts back into the room, then goes down to breakfast. Peter gives his retreating back a startled glance.

*****

There isn’t much breakfast left by the time Remus gets downstairs; mostly just cold porridge and hard buttered toast. He has three cups of sugary tea, into which he dunks his toast, and a small apple he finds under some serviettes. A Gryffindor first-year who’s staying behind gives him a shy glance from the end of the table, and Remus flashes him a tight smile, then clambers over the bench and flees the dining hall.

He’s still far too angry to speak to any of his friends, so the dorm stairs are out. Instead he wanders down a back corridor in search of a tiny lift they stumbled on years ago, which goes right up nearly to the top of the castle. It would be a useful shortcut for getting to Divination, except that there seems to be some kind of decaying enchantment on it and the stops bear little relation to which buttons are pressed. Remus presses them all, running his finger down the row of little black enameled buttons, the numbers painted in flaking gold, and grasps the tarnished brass bars as the lift takes off with a stomach-twisting lurch.

It’ll be a relief to have them gone, he thinks, as the lift zooms up three floors, drops two, then climbs again. He’s so tired of everything being messy and confusing. James and Sirius, James and Lily, and him the stand-in dummy when the others are busy. Lily’s not wrong; it’s degrading to let himself be played with this way, as though if he waits long enough, someone will want _him_ instead of pretending he’s someone else.

But he can’t help remembering the way Sirius felt, his kisses so warm and desperate. The lift crashes down six floors, lights flickering, and Remus clutches at the bars. Everything is always about James, whether he’s present or not, so he’s never really thought of how it could be with Sirius. That long dark hair, the slim hips, the crooked grin – it works on the girls, and Remus is no different. If Lily has really changed her mind about James, that leaves Sirius out, and maybe…

His reverie is brought to halt by the memory of Sirius’s whispers, Sirius staring last night at the party with such a lost, hurt look. _Do you love him? I know you feel like I do._ It’s idiotic to think he could be anything to either of them but a warm body, good for a snog or a shag. He lets go of the bars, punching his fist into his open palm, and the lift jerks to a stop, hovering and vibrating. The doors slide open with a squeal, and the old-fashioned metal fence collapses to the sides to reveal an unfamiliar hallway.

Remus steps out of the lift gingerly, waiting for it to drop the moment he puts a foot on solid ground. It does fall several inches, and he hops out quickly, just in time to avoid the closing fence. The doors crash shut behind it, and with a whirr of machinery the lift is gone, falling six floors in ten seconds. He watches the little arrow swing round, until it comes to a quivering halt on the ground floor, then turns to look at his surroundings.

He’s on the eighth floor, which he dimly recalls is used for storage. He walks forward to peer at the brass plate on the nearest door, inscribed with what looks like Egyptian hieroglyphs. Remus knows better than to try any door with an inscription he can’t read, and wishes he’d thought to bring the map. It’s still in James’s trunk, though, and to hell if he’s going all the way back now.

They did this floor months ago, he thinks, back when they were mostly looking for hiding places. Locked doors weren’t much good for that, since their opening spells repertoire hadn’t been much at the time. Now he thinks that it’s probably just as well – doors locked in Hogwarts tend to be locked for a good reason – but it would be nice to know if any of these rooms is worth looking into.

He wanders down the short hall, searching for a plate he can read. One is written in spidery Akkadian, looking as though the symbols were etched with fire by an unsteady hand, and he makes out something about goats and innards. Supplies, he thinks with a shudder; probably for Divination. He skipped the advanced class for that reason, although he remembers Sirius’s gleefully gruesome stories, and the way Peter would come back with his white shirt collar all flecked with dark blood.

There’s a window at the end of the hell, and he’s drawn towards the dusty light. It’s a narrow, arched dormer, hung with orange velvet draperies which he has to push aside to peer through the streaky, double-paned glass. Looking down gives him a touch of vertigo, but the lake stretches out before him, grey and beginning to freeze over, and he can see the carriages going down the hill to the train station. They’re too far off to make out faces, and all he sees are sparks of color, red and green, yellow and blue.

A door opens and shuts behind him and Remus jumps, whirling around. He’s almost never in trouble with Filch, but the old man is (rightfully) distrustful, and would probably be more than happy to saddle Remus with detention for the entire holiday. The robed figure is farther down the hall, so that at first Remus can only tell that it isn’t Filch because of the familiar stooped shoulders.

Remus has a brief impulse to duck behind the heavy drapes, but Snape sees him when he turns to lock the door behind him. He squints at Remus a moment, and then recognition washes over his face. At that Remus’s next instinct is to open the nearest door, goat innards be damned.

“What are you doing here?” Snape asks, without moving. His voice carries, rich and clear, down the hall.

“I – the lift,” Remus says. “I was just seeing where it went, but it’s got a mind of its own.”

Snape frowns at him. “Rather the opposite.”

“What?”

“It’s got a very advanced charm on it. It goes where the rider wants to go.”

“Oh -- I thought it was broken. Why don’t they tell us about it? It’s a terrific shortcut to Divination.”

“Very few of the students at this school possess the necessary concentration and mental clarity to control it,” Snape says acidly. “Which is why it’s reserved almost exclusively for teachers.”

“Oh,” says Remus. “That explains – “ He stops, recalling with embarrassment the erratic behavior of the lift under his control.

Snape smirks. “I’m sure it does.”

“I didn’t _know_ ,” Remus protests. “There isn’t a sign saying ‘concentration and mental clarity required to ride this lift.’ And I have -- _things_ on my mind.”

Snape’s smirk gets harder. “I’m sure you do.” He turns sharply and begins to walk quickly down the hall.

“Wait,” Remus calls, and runs after him, his shoes ringing on the stone flags. Snape doesn’t look back.

“Damn it, listen,” Remus says when he catches up. “You don’t have to – “

”Exactly,” Snape says, not stopping. “I don’t have to do anything.”

“But you might,” Remus says, putting his hand on Snape’s shoulder.

“What do you _want_?” Snape snaps, whirling around. “Do you want to get me drunk again?” He jerks away from Remus, shrugging his hand off. “Do you want to copy off my Potions homework? Do you want me to be your _boyfriend_ , Lupin? Do you want me to be like James Great Sodding Poof Potter?”

Remus’s mouth drops open, and he feels like someone’s dumped an entire cauldron off ice-cold punch over his head this time. Snape is breathing hard, the color in his cheeks bright and high.

“No, I – “ Remus gasps. “That’s not – I don’t know what I want.”

“That’s obvious,” Snape says, the words bitter in his mouth. “I’m not your plaything, Lupin. You think I’m just going to wait while you sort things out and make up your stupid mind?”

“Aren’t you?” Remus snaps. “I don’t see you having it off with anyone else.”

“You don’t know fuck-all about me, Lupin,” Snape hisses. “You’ve never bothered to find out -- ”

” -- I know enough -- ”

“ – and just because I’m not with someone else doesn’t mean I’m waiting for _you_. I’ve got more important things to worry about, like my marks.”

“As if it matters,” Remus scoffs. “James’ll be Head next year and you know it.”

Snape’s eyes narrow, and his face goes white. “It might have been you, Lupin, if you hadn’t been too busy sucking his prick to study this year.”

Remus feels the blood pound in his head, his face going white-hot, and it’s too much.

“What the fuck is WRONG with everyone?” he shouts, his hands clenching. “I don’t know what _your_ bloody problem is, Severus Snape, but I wish you would sort it the hell out and leave me alone.”

He’s right up in Snape’s face, practically touching him, and it’s like the anger is coming out from every pore. He can see that it’s scaring Snape, and some sick part of him likes that, being in control for once. Then Snape’s eyes go hard.

“What do you think I’ve been doing?” he says, low and dangerous. “’Come here, go away’ – you’re pathetic, Lupin.”

Remus breaks eye contact and walks off, shaking his head. “Sod it.”

“Make up your mind!” Snape calls after him.

“It’s made up!” Remus says, without turning around. “Forget I said anything, ever.”

”Believe me, I’ve tried.”

“Hard to forget, am I?” Remus can’t resist saying, stopping for a moment.

“For all the wrong reasons, you self-absorbed ponce.”

Remus starts walking again.

The lift crashes down three floors before Remus gets it under control. He knows Snape must be watching the arrow fall, smirking, and the thought makes the damned thing lurch sideways.

*****

Snape’s harder to avoid than usual over the next few days, as there are only a handful of students staying in the castle and Dumbledore makes them all eat on the dais together. Remus realizes he’s never thought about Snape at Christmas before, assuming he went home like the rest of them. He wonders if Snape does this every year, and then curses under his breath. He’s finished with caring about what happens to Severus Snape.

It’s strange, eating with the teachers. Slughorn buttonholes him for a long, dull talk about the Christmas he once spent with the prime minister’s third cousin, and finishes up by needling Remus about his ever-worsening marks.

“Had a falling out with Miss Evans?” Slughorn asks, elbowing Remus and making him spill borscht down his front. “I’d make up with that one, m’boy – clever as a centaur! I predict great things for that girl.” He lowers his voice. “And a nice arse too, eh?” He laughs explosively, elbowing Remus again and spraying cheese crumbs everywhere.

Remus considers telling the man that he prefers blokes on the whole, but settles for mumbling “Yes, sir.” He has his suspicions about Slughorn’s own preferences.

Snape is just two seats on the other side of him, and Remus knows he must be listening to every word, enjoying Remus’s discomfort. Few of Snape’s housemates have stayed, and Snape vanishes after every meal, probably to revise up in the library. Remus prefers his own common room, now that it’s free of distractions, and he thinks the remaining first-year boy likes the company. Remus is surprised to find that he enjoys tutoring Liam in some of the more difficult subjects, and it’s a good feeling to be helping someone else. He hasn’t acted like a real prefect in months.

Christmas Eve comes, along with a flurry of snow. Remus dreads the long, cold tunnel to the drafty shack, but Dumbledore tells him in private to use one of the empty dungeon cells instead. There’s a seven-course supper, with roast goose and crispy yorkshires and an enormous flaming pudding, and afterwards the teachers and students gather under the tree, green and fragrant as ever, to open the presents wrapped in gold and silver which dangle from its branches. Remus opens his in a hurry, feeling the moon begin to tug at his veins, and finds thick cashmere socks in his house colors. Dumbledore gives him a wink.

Remus takes the socks with him to the dungeons, feeling the chill of the stone walls as he goes down the stairs. His feet are always freezing and sore the next morning, and he thinks it will be a comfort to have something soft to put on. He walks into the first cell he sees, pulling the door shut behind him. It swings easily on its hinges, and he wonders with a little shiver what it’s been used for recently.

Dumbledore has given him a large padlock which locks with a charm. Remus casts the spell with his wand, and then slides it outside the cell as far as he can reach. He strips his clothes off quickly, shivering, and is trying to fold them when the change begins to ripple through him.

He drops his shirt and trousers, gasping, as every hair on his body stands on end. His bones begin to crack, lengthening, and he clings to the bars of the cell, moaning with the pain and trying not to. Then his back arches, his skin stretching, and he manages one strangled scream before the world goes black.

Everything is red when he wakes, from some fierce dream that makes his heart pound. He swallows, hard, his tongue thick in his mouth. There’s pain everywhere, both sharp and dull, and it’s more than he’s used to. His eyes seem stuck closed, and when he manages to open them, his face feels stiff. He gets one hand up to his forehead, touching something sticky and crumbly. His fingertips come away covered in dried blood. When he moves his head there’s a stabbing pain, and he bites his lip against the ache.

There are cuts all over his body, he sees, and one long slash across his chest that’s begun to bleed again . He starts to sit up, propped on one elbow, and there’s a rush of nausea. Before he can catch himself, he’s vomiting, last night’s turkey and pudding warm all down his chest. His head spins so fast that he falls back down again, hard on his shoulder.

He tries four times to drag himself close enough to the bars to reach his wand, and gives up at last. He manages to cover himself with his trousers, the barest modesty, and begins to call for help.

No one but the Slytherins are in earshot, as Remus knows perfectly well, but he doesn’t have much of a choice. He isn’t even certain that his weak shouts will carry that far. After five minutes there’s no response, and he tries once more to sit up. This time the pain is like a brick to the back of his head, but as he passes out, he thinks he hears a door’s echoing slam in the distance.

When he wakes up, he’s warm, buried beneath mounds of hospital blankets and dressed in his own pyjamas. There’s an enormous bandage wrapped tightly around his head, covering most of his ears. He stirs, and feels the answering stretch of newly-healed cuts.

He sees Madam Pomfrey bustling toward him out of the corner of his eye, carrying a flask of something dark purple and bubbling. “Drink,” she says shortly, and he leans forward gingerly, wincing as the cut on his chest is pulled.

“What -- ?” he whispers, his throat dry.

“Concussion,” she says. “You nearly split your skull on one of those manacles down there. And a touch of pneumonia too, from lying on those stones all night. What Professor Dumbledore was thinking, letting you stay in such a dangerous place during your change, I don’t know.”

“Used to – it,” he manages.

“Used to your own place,” she snaps. “It was thoughtless of you to switch, when you’ve always gone to the shack. Just because it’s Christmas doesn’t mean you can do as you please.”

“Too cold,” he coughs, and her look softens a fraction.

“Well, as I say, I don’t know what Professor Dumbledore was thinking. I know he sets great store by having you students learn independence, but I say there’s too much of a good thing. Now, drink up.”

Remus licks his lips, takes a deep breath, and gulps down the potion in a hurry. It’s not as terrible as he fears, tasting mainly of chamomile and only faintly of dirty socks.

“Now, I’d better let him in to see you,” Madam Pomfrey says, taking the flask. “He’s been here all morning, and I’ll never get any work done if he doesn’t leave. But no more than five minutes, do you understand?”

“Dumbledore?” Remus asks, puzzled.

“No, although I don’t doubt he’ll be poking his nose in later. It’s Severus Snape, the one who brought you up.” She glances at the door, then lowers her voice. “I told him it must’ve been a student prank. Knowing the company you keep, I’m sure it was easy to believe.”

She bustles off, and Remus sits up a little, pushing the blankets down. The door opens and Snape stalks in, a heavy frown on his face.

“Who?” Snape asks.

“What?” Remus croaks.

“Who did it?”

Remus shakes his head, then wishes he hadn’t. “Please don’t.”

“There are only two people here now who know Sectumsempra. Which one was it?”

“Sectum -- what?”

“The spell that – made your chest bleed.” Snape looks suddenly uncomfortable, glancing downward.

“I’ve never – “

“You wouldn’t, Lupin. Now tell me who did it.”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s none of your business, Snape.”

“I’m making it my business.”

Remus begins to cough, and glances around for something to drink. “Water? Please?”

Snape gives him a look, then goes to the pitcher standing on a nearby table and pours out a glass. He hands it to Remus, who manages a few sips.

“All right,” Snape says. “Tell me.”

“Why do you care?”

Snape looks surprised, but recovers. “I don’t like people pulling pranks with that spell.”

“How do you know I didn’t deserve it?”

“Lupin, I highly doubt that. Without your friends around, you’ve got all the aggressive tendencies of a stuffed rabbit.”

Remus takes another swallow of his water, buying time.

“Regardless,” he says at last. “Please leave it alone.”

“Don’t be such a bloody noble Gryffindor, Lupin.”

”What should I be?”

“ _Sensible_. It’s idiotic to protect people who attack you for no reason. I can tell you now, they won’t appreciate it.”

“It’s my affair, Snape. I appreciate the thought, but – “

“I’m not doing this because I feel sorry for you. I just don’t like anyone using that spell on other people.”

“Why are you so concerned with this Sectum – whatever? I’ve never even heard of it.”

“It’s just a curse,” Snape mutters. “A particularly nasty one. As you know.”

“I’ve never seen you worried about nasty curses, Snape. I remember – “

“I just don’t like it, all right?” Snape barks. “Now will you tell me who did this, or do I have to slip Veritaserum into everyone’s pumpkin juice at bedtime?”

Remus smiles before he can stop himself. Snape looks flushed and furious, his hair stringy and limp, and something in his intensity is faintly ridiculous.

“Quite the Sherlock Holmes,” Remus says under his breath.

“Who?”

“A detective from Muggle literature,” Remus says. “You’ve never heard of him?”

“I hardly waste my time reading that sort of rubbish.”

“Your father never – “

“No,” Snape says shortly.

There’s an awkward silence.

“Snape, please leave this alone,” Remus says at last. “I know you have your reasons, but – I have mine. Can we just leave it at that?”

Snape glares at him for a moment, then sighs. “I suppose something humiliating happened that you don’t want me to find out.”

”Well,” Remus hedges, trying to sound embarrassed. “Yes.”

“Very well,” Snape says, folding his arms over his chest.

“And – thanks,” Remus adds. “For bringing me up. How did you manage it?”

“Levicorpus, naturally.”

“You mean upside-down?” Remus feels himself blush.

“Of course not, you had a head wound. I’ve made a modification that floats the object flat on his back.”

“Clever,” Remus says vaguely. “But I – “

“Yes, you were starkers, Lupin,” Snape says bluntly. “I averted my eyes.”

“Ah,” says Remus, feeling oddly deflated. “Er, thanks. You didn’t find any socks down there, did you?”

“Dumbledore’s?” Snape asks. “You’re wearing them.”

Remus wriggles his feet, and feels the soft warmth. He smiles.

“Are you wearing yours?”

“What do you think?”

”I think you are.”

Snape sticks out a foot and hauls up his trouser leg to reveal a skinny, pale ankle encased in a thin black sock.

“I only wear black, Lupin,” Snape says. “Colored socks are undignified.”

“Pity,” Remus answers. “These are terribly comfortable. Do you suppose Dumbledore knits them?”

“I prefer not to think about it,” Snape says, but he looks slightly amused.

Madam Pomfrey opens the door a few inches and sticks her head in.

“That’s enough visiting, Mr. Snape. He’s a very sick boy. You can come back tomorrow.”

Snape glances back at Remus, then nods.

”And you, Mr. Lupin, need to rest,” she adds. “That potion should be putting you to sleep any moment now.”

Remus realizes his eyelids are in fact growing rather heavy, and slides down to rest his head squarely on the pillow. Snape reaches to pull up the blankets, and Remus gives him a startled glance. Snape doesn’t meet his eyes, just tucks the covers in tightly, biting his lower lip.

“See you tomorrow, Lupin,” Snape mutters.

“All right,” Remus says, closing his eyes. He waits for Snape to leave, but the other boy hesitates for some reason.

“Happy Christmas,” Snape says at last, in a rush. Remus blinks opens his eyes to see Snape heading for the door, not looking behind him even once.

Maybe it’s just the concussion making him dizzy, but he isn’t sure.

*****

Snape brings a set of gobstones with him the next day. It’s fashioned in the old style, the pieces carved out of some heavy, precious material that Remus doesn’t recognize, rather than the cheap stone that newer sets use. When he comments on it, Snape looks down, and says quietly that it was his mother’s. Remus doesn’t ask anything else.

His brain is still stupid and foggy, and he loses four games in a row. He wipes the goop from his face with a rueful smile, using the tea towel Snape passes him, and declines a fifth match.

“Cruel of you to take advantage of a poor invalid,” he says. “Who knew you were so good at gobstones?”

“Just because I don’t crow about my accomplishments, like some people, doesn’t mean I don’t have them.”

“Oh, you crow all right,” Remus says, and Snape shoots him a warning look. “But mostly about schoolwork. Why don’t you join the gobstones team? They lost miserably in the last tournament.”

Snape shrugs. “I have better things to do with my time than wasting my talents on those idiots.”

“Such as?”

“Such as bringing you the books McGonagall fetched from your common room. She seemed to think you’d need this one in particular.”

He hands over a large red book marked _Remedial Transfigurations for Lazy Sixth-Years_.

”Her class is the only one I haven’t fallen behind in!” Remus groans. “I don’t even want to know what Flitwick had to say.”

“I haven’t seen him,” Snape says. “He’s supposed to be on holiday in Majorca.”

Remus gets a mental picture of the tiny professor lying out on a beach wearing a swimming costume, with a white stripe of zinc oxide down his knobby nose and an umbrella drink at his side, and snickers. Snape has a little smile in the corner of his mouth, and Remus suspects Snape’s thinking the same thing he is.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Snape says, standing up. “And I’ll bring Charms tomorrow.”

“Don’t do me any favors,” Remus mutters, flipping through McGonagall’s book and trying to remember anything about liquid to gas transfigurations, which he dimly recalls studying last October.

Snape does bring Remus’s Charms books the next day, and Runes the day after that. Revising in the infirmary isn’t exactly how Remus had planned to spend the holiday, but he has to admit it’s much easier to get work done without the distraction of being able to get out of bed. Rereading his notes, making corrections, working out problems he’s let drift over his head without a second thought, it’s staggering to realize how much time he’s wasted this term. He’s _missed_ this, the way it feels to soak in knowledge, forge new connections, get his head around a tricky bit of technical theory. It’s even worse knowing that people like Snape and Lily are miles ahead of him now, having diligently kept up, and that people like James will always be ahead without even working at it.

And Snape rubs it all in by _not_ rubbing it in, but patiently tutoring Remus in some of the things he’s forgotten, or never learned. Snape never makes reference to just why Remus has fallen behind, but his frustration and disbelief when Remus confesses he’s missing an entire day of Ancient Runes notes, or that he hasn’t practiced a single charm all term, are enough. He wants Snape’s good opinion, he realizes suddenly, and it’s got nothing to do with inter-House competition for marks, or even with the way that Snape’s slim white hands moving over the pages make Remus shift uncomfortably beneath the sheets. He was good at this once, and they were on the same ground. Now he’s like little Liam, a slightly backward boy who needs all the help he can get.

Three days after the full moon, he finally asks Snape the question that’s been bothering him. Snape is checking over Remus’s Arithmancy work, shaking his head at some of the sloppier calculations, and though he’s tied his hair back again, one lock has slipped free and fallen over his frowning brow. There’s a peaceful, friendly air between them now, and Remus knows he’s risking losing it again.

“Why did you help me?”

Snape looks up, shaking his hair back from his face.

“What, with your revision?”

“No, downstairs. When I was hurt.”

“I told you. I don’t like people using that spell.” Snape looks down at the papers in his hand again.

“Is there some reason that particular spell bothers you?” Remus asks carefully.

Snape shrugs. “It’s overkill. Unnecessary unless the caster is in real peril.”

“And you’re certain I didn’t – imperil the caster?”

Snape’s frown turns into a deep scowl, under the curtain of hair. “I already told you.”

“Yes, but – “

“You want to know why I trust you weren’t physically attacking my housemates, who are much larger and more accomplished hex-casters than you are? And why I bothered to take you upstairs when you were bleeding and unconscious?”

”Well – “

Snape has thrown the papers down on the foot of the bed, and is gathering up his own notes and books angrily.

“You expected I would’ve just left you down there with your stupid skull cracked open, is that it, Lupin? A nice thing to think, although why it surprises me coming from you, I don’t know.”

“Snape – “

“Serves me right for sticking my neck out. Catch me doing _that_ again.” Snape crams the last of his notes into his leather satchel, and snatches his robe from the bedpost.

“Severus, _wait_ ,” Remus says, heart in his throat. He sits up, too fast, and pushes back the covers. His head whirls as he turns to put his feet on the ground. “That’s not what I meant at all, and you bloody well know it.”

Snape stops, his hand on the bedpost, face turned away. “What did you mean?” he asks the wall.

Remus takes a breath, pressing his hand to the sore spot on his head, now covered by only a small square of gauze. “I meant – you could have got a professor to take me up. Or waited until someone else found me. It didn’t have to be you.”

“You mean you didn’t want it to be me.”

“Stop it!” Remus snaps. “Now _you’re_ the one who can’t make up his bloody mind. Can you blame me for being surprised, after what you said to me last week?”

“I don’t recall what I said.”

“Bollocks. You know perfectly well that you told me I was pathetic, and that you wanted nothing to do with me.”

Snape turns his head suddenly, fire in his eyes. “Now _that’s_ a lie. Perhaps it’s your _head wound_ playing tricks with your memory, but I said nothing of the sort.”

”You certainly did,” Remus says, standing up unsteadily. “That crack about James, and not being Head – “

“Oh, you’re certainly pathetic,” Snape hisses. “That part’s true enough.”

“And then you said – “

“And then I said I wasn’t going to wait around for you to make up your mind.”

Remus closes his eyes for a moment. The dizziness gets worse, as the thoughts dart by in a bright cloud, confusing him.

“Remus?” He opens his eyes again, to see Snape has turned completely and taken a step closer to him. “ _Make up your mind_.”

Remus looks at Snape, the taller boy’s eyes narrow but bright, his breath coming in hitches. More hair has fallen across his face now, and he’s clutching at the bedpost with white knuckles. Remus reaches out to brush back Snape’s hair, to get a better look, and Snape flinches at the touch. They’re both breathing hard now, and there’s a wild ringing in Remus’s ears as he tips his head to the side, leaning forward.

“Wait,” Snape whispers, his breath shaky against Remus’s mouth, and Remus kisses him anyhow.

He can’t believe he’s waited weeks to do this again. Snape’s mouth is warm, and he’s kissing back with no hesitation at all, despite his protest. Remus slides his hand round the back of Snape’s neck, under the soft weight of his hair, and Snape makes a little sound. Their mouths open together, and Remus pushes his tongue in eagerly, licking against Snape’s, pressing up against him. Remus realizes Snape is still holding onto the bedpost, and he slides his hand down Snape’s arm, prying up his fingers one at a time. Once he gets Snape’s hand free he holds it a moment, then puts it on his own arse. Snape hitches a breath, his mouth stilling against Remus’s, and pulls Remus closer with a moan.

Lost in the kiss, both hands buried in Snape’s hair now, it takes Remus a while to realize that the dizziness is growing worse, until he takes a staggering step backwards and falls, nearly dragging Snape down with him. Snape holds him steady instead, fingers digging in, and pulls back.

“Dizzy,” Remus pants, his stomach turning. “Bed – “

It’s awkward, but Snape manages to lay Remus on the bed, and is standing up to go when Remus clutches at him.

“You don’t have to leave,” he breathes. “Just give me a moment.”

”Your head – I shouldn’t – “

” _Please_ ,” Remus says, and Snape crawls reluctantly onto the narrow bed next to him.

“I don’t want you to go off again,” Remus says, closing his eyes as Snape puts his head gingerly on the pillow. “It ended badly the last time.”

Snape doesn’t say anything. Remus gets the feeling he’s being watched.

“I had to go that night,” Snape says at last, his deep voice almost inaudible.

“Yeah, well, you don’t have to go now.”

The seconds go by as he waits for the dizziness to recede, and it strikes him that this, lying close to someone else, is the most intimate thing he’s done, despite everything. He can feel Snape’s breath on his cheek, and after a little while, Snape’s hand brushing the hair away from his bruised temple. His heart begins to pound, waiting for the momentary peace to end, for Snape to come to his senses and leave.

His head clears, and the sick feeling in his stomach recedes. He’s afraid to open his eyes now, to see impatience or reluctance on Snape’s face, but he does it at last.

Snape looks peaceful, unguarded, his eyes half-closed and soft. He meets Remus’s glance with a little wariness, nothing more. After a moment, Remus smiles.

“Fancy another snog?” he asks. Snape widens his eyes in surprise, but he’s smiling too, when Remus leans in to kiss him again.

They kiss for a long time, lying face to face. It’s unhurried and gentle, and sometimes they stop to press their foreheads together for a moment, just breathing together. It’s like nothing Remus has had before -- all that fierce, drunken snogging this term, those awkward interludes with Lily years ago. Remus can feel that Snape is hard against him, and he’s hard too, but that seems unimportant, too frantic and urgent for this moment. Snape’s fingers in his hair, Snape kissing the hollow of his throat, are too distracting to think about anything else.

After a while Remus falls into a light doze, face buried against Snape’s neck, their arms over each other. He wakes when he feels Snape pulling away, beginning to sit up.

“It’s dinner time,” Snape says, before Remus can say anything. “I’ll come back after, if Pomfrey will let me in.”

Remus nods, and pulls Snape down for one more kiss.

*****

Madam Pomfrey keeps him in the infirmary for another two days, enough time to finish his revising, lose a couple games of gobstones, and have a few more snogging sessions with Snape. Remus wonders if she has any idea what they do during the long hours they spend alone, but she doesn’t say anything about it.

They don’t do anything more than kiss, but as Remus’s strength returns he can feel his desire growing. Once he rolls over, pinning Snape beneath him and pushing his tongue into Snape’s mouth, but Snape’s frantic protest and restraining hands stop him. Remus pulls back, out of breath, and Snape slides out from underneath him, frowning and looking away. Remus reaches for Snape’s hand but he jerks it back, adjusting his clothes, and hurries out the door to dinner. He doesn’t come back for hours, and then he perches on the hard chair like he used to, shirt buttoned up to his neck and clutching a heavy book on his lap like a shield. Remus can barely coax a goodnight kiss out of him.

They don’t talk about anything much, especially not anything important, like _what is this?_ and _what are we doing?_ and _do you even like me?_ When they’re pressed together, lost in warm, endless kisses, questions like that don’t seem to matter; when they’re not touching each other, something awkward descends. Remus clears his throat, twisting his hands together, and Snape sits ramrod straight, eyes serious and focused anywhere but on Remus.

Remus is given a clean bill of health and a stern warning lecture three days before the end of the holiday, and he climbs the stairs to his silent dormitory slowly, feeling something like regret. Liam is pathetically glad to see him, talking a mile a minute, and Remus isn’t surprised; he wouldn’t like to stay up in this empty tower by himself either. They spend the evening flying charmed paper darts around the common room, something Sirius and James used to do in class when they were all younger, and Remus promises to build snow forts the next day.

His bed feels even lonelier than the one in the empty infirmary. The curtains on Peter’s bed move a little, stirred by an invisible draft, and Remus falls asleep holding imaginary conversations in his head with the people who aren’t there. The last one is between him and James, trying to explain how he feels about Snape, and it doesn’t take much imagination to summon the shock on James’s face.

Snape isn’t at breakfast in the morning, and Remus doesn’t think it would be a good idea to try to find him. His instincts have betrayed him in the past, but this time he feels a plan of no action is the best plan of all. He goes upstairs instead to get dressed for the snow, layering red and gold scarves and even a purple one cast-off by Peter’s elder sister. He’s always had a tendency to catch cold easily, his thin body susceptible to the icy Scottish weather, and as he’s gotten older it’s only gotten more pronounced.

He knows that his physical weakness worries his parents, and he knows this recent concussion is just further proof of it, judging by a whispered conversation he overhead between Pomfrey and Dumbledore. Strange, to be getting less strong as he gets older, but he supposes everything about being a werewolf ought to be strange.

When Remus comes down Liam is waiting in the courtyard, which has been charmed to keep its smooth paving stones clear of snow. Remus thinks it would be nice to sit here, sheltered from the winds on one of the Founders’ Benches, but Liam tugs him up a hill, deep into a drift. The sky is a clear, bright blue, the lake one solid sheet of dazzling ice, and Remus squints against the glare, as even the air seems on fire.

Liam is an active little boy, nothing like Remus himself at that age, and instead of building snow wizards and snow kneazles he wants to have a battle. Together they make two walls, heaping up the creamy, crystalline snow, then Liam hunkers down behind one of them and begins to pat together a stack of projectiles. Remus is somewhat chagrined to find that Liam has remembered last night’s paper-dart charm, and several snowballs come zooming over and land with deadly accuracy on the back of his neck, dripping down his collar.

The battle rages on for the better part of an hour, until Remus notices that Liam’s cheeks and nose are bright red and that he’s lost one of his mittens. The cloudless sky holds no warmth and Remus calls a halt at last, wrapping his arms around himself and shivering. Liam protests, then gives in and gleefully destroys his snow wall, finding his mitten in the process. They turn and head back to the castle.

“Thanks for coming out, Remus,” Liam says, plowing through the snow. “The other boys said you were just a stodgy old swot, but that was loads of fun.”

“Er, thanks,” Remus says.

“Especially when I pegged you right in the face, that was hilarious. D’you think there’ll be pudding for lunch?”

“Probably. You’d better change into drier clothes first, though.”

“Come off it, Remus, you sound like my mum,” Liam says, pulling a face. “But Muggles always worry more, don’t they?”

“Is your mum a Muggle?” Remus asks carefully.

“Too right, yeah.”

“So’s mine.”

“Does she make a fuss and say ‘Goodness, isn’t that _dangerous_?’ all the time when you talk about school?”

“Well, it’s hard for Muggles, you know. They haven’t grown up with broomsticks and dragons and hexes and things.”

“Well, she’s been with my dad for long enough, you’d think she wouldn’t worry about a little thing like using levicorpus on my sister. But that’s Muggles for you – they can be so _stupid_.”

Remus looks down at the boy with a sick sort of feeling. Liam seems unmoved by what he’s saying, walking through tracks obviously made by Hagrid and jumping happily from footprint to footprint.

“Liam, who have you been talking to about Muggles?”

“No one. People. You know. Oy, look, there’s one of the elves with the lunch bell!”

Liam takes off with a flying leap, tumbling down the hillside toward the castle. Remus keeps to his slower pace, frowning in thought, and reaches the foot of the hill after Liam has vanished inside.

The courtyard looks as inviting as before, the wide stone benches kept free of snow by the same charm and slightly warm to the touch. Remus sits down on the one donated by Rowena Ravenclaw, and runs his fingers along the intricate scrollwork along the back, where KNOWLEDGE IS POWER is inscribed in Latin on a banner held aloft by two stone eagles. He feels a slight, wicked thrill; during the term he would have been summarily ousted by any Ravenclaw student who caught him here, and probably hexed blue and bronze as well.

The thought inspires him, and he rises to investigate the other benches as well, having never gotten a good look at them before. Hufflepuff’s is less scrolly, more solid, with the seat supported by four kindly-looking badgers and the single word UNITY carved in capitals across the back. He has to cross the courtyard to reach the Slytherin bench, which is covered in a rather unnerving mass of writhing stone snakes, so that the motto is impossible to read. He crouches down, brushing away a bit of hardy lichen growing in the crevices of the carving, but the words seem to twist like the snakes above them.

“You can’t read it, you know.”

Remus flinches with surprise, but doesn’t look round. “Indecipherous charm?”

“He invented them. This is just a minor example.”

“Not so very minor, to have held up for centuries.”

“Have you ever heard of any Slytherin magic that didn’t?”

Remus stands up, knees creaking, and turns to face Snape. “Salazar Slytherin’s magic in particular, or just any Slytherin? Because I can tell you a few stories about Morty Parkinson….”

“Obviously not the entire house, which has its share of fools.”

“Tsk, tsk, where’s your House loyalty? Are you admitting that all Slytherins aren’t shining examples of brilliance and talent?” Remus smiles, to show he’s joking, but Snape’s face is still stern and pale above his dark green muffler.

“Compared to myself, naturally not, but I daresay certain other houses wouldn’t hold up under comparison.”

“With you or with your House?”

“Either,” Snape says, and smiles at last; not warmly, but not entirely sardonic either.

“So, this charm,” Remus says, nodding back at the bench. “It’s keyed to just Slytherins, then?”

”Naturally.”

“That’s quite a job. Setting spells to recognize personal identities is difficult enough, let alone fraternal affiliations.”

”It’s actually easier…but what would you know about identity-recognition spells, Lupin?”

Remus smiles, thinking of years of mapmaking work. “About as much as you know about House-recognition spells, I suppose. And I’m sure that non-existent knowledge has nothing at all to do with all of Ravenclaw sporting green hair during OWLs last year.”

“Care to take a turn about the castle?” Snape asks abruptly.

“Bit cold, don’t you think?” Remus answers, feeling a chill from his wet clothes as a wind sneaks through the courtyard pillars.

“Not everywhere.”

Remus follows Snape as they trudge through the deep snow on the north side of the castle. The collar of Snape’s black woolen coat is turned up nearly to his ears, and his hair is tucked in, but Remus has a suspicion it’s been bound back with the leather cord again. He wonders how Snape deduced he likes that, then bites his lip. Maybe it’s nothing to do with him at all. Snape hasn’t exactly been forthcoming with tender pronouncements.

The forest presses in close here, the dark, bare trees blanketed with heavy snow. Remus has heard that centaurs live in there, and basilisks, and pixies large enough to carry off a horse, but that’s ridiculous. Everyone knows basilisks like warm, wet underground places. Still, there’s something menacing about the thickly-clustered trees which shield any good view of the forest without going for a closer look. It’s some of the oldest wilderness left standing in Britain, and any number of ancient beasts could have been hidden there, ignorant of the march of centuries and civilization outside. Even giant man-eating pixies.

The greenhouses come into view, protected from the crushing snow by another charm, and the bright sunlight beams off the mossy panes. Snape crunches downhill toward the smallest of them, and Remus sneaks a look around, wondering if they’re visible from the castle windows above. He knows it’s mostly classrooms on this side, empty now, but there are the stray teacher’s rooms in the corner towers. He hopes quickly that the faculty are all at lunch, and follows Snape.

This greenhouse is reserved for seventh-year independent study, off-limits to other students. Remus doesn’t recognize most of the plants he can see clustered behind glass, except one vine with enormous, blood-red blooms which he thinks might be venomous, and mobile. Snape produces a small key from his robes, and Remus stops behind him, a little closer than he meant to. His breath comes in steamy puffs, so he turns his head away to avoid breathing down Snape’s neck as he wrestles with the door. The vine in the window jerks at the movement, and a crimson flower glides up to the glass, seeming almost curious. Remus gets a shiver down his back.

The key clicks in the frozen lock. Snape opens the door slowly. Warm, wet air escapes in a rush, and Snape slips in sideways, keeping the door as closed as possible. Remus follows, trying to avoid the venomous plant. He feels the tickle of a flower at his ear and jerks away quickly, slamming the door shut behind him. The plant recoils at the sound of rattling glass, then curls up in a grotesque parody of wounded dignity, exuding a clear, sticky sap from its blossoms. Remus smiles, unsure whether to be amused or revolted.

Snape has gone to the back of the greenhouse now, moving silently over the soft earth at their feet. The heat of the place is immediate and overwhelming, and Remus shrugs off his overcoat, feeling sweat break out on his cold face. He’s wearing Muggle street clothes beneath, a plaid button-down with a long collar and a pair of dark blue, flared dungarees his mother sent for Christmas. Her note told him that they were popular with the students at her university now, and he felt the old, strange wrench of being between worlds, never really at home in either.

He likes the way the trousers fit, though, and the shirt looks well beneath his school robes. The professors never care what one wears beneath robes, and he suspects a few people of wearing nothing at all in the last months of the spring term.

Snape is still wearing his heavy coat, though he’s removed his scarf, and robes beneath that. He bends over a long rack of tiny pots, each sprouting a different cutting. His long, thin hands dance over their surfaces, patting soil, propping up errant stems, touching a pollen-covered stamen or curling leaf. Remus just watches him for a moment, seeing the way Snape’s total absorption changes his face, softening the angry lines and giving him dignity. Snape really cares about magic, he thinks – not just for the marks, or for the power it gives him over other people, but because it’s interesting. It makes him wonder if Snape gives this much focus to everything he finds interesting.

Remus crosses the greenhouse quietly, laying his coat and unwound scarves on a bench, and comes to stand next to Snape. The other boy is using a tiny pair of scissors to cut a long, pale pink creeper off a squatty cactus, which he then places in a small glass of water, biting his lip in concentration.

“Extra credit project?”

“Not exactly.”

Remus doesn’t say anything, just watches Snape finish his work. He sets aside the glass with the cutting, and reaches for a box of Quik-Gro Charmed Fertilizer, which he shakes lightly over a few flower pots.

“Running a sideline in the florist business? Those should be ready for Valentine’s Day if you keep it up with the Quik-Gro.”

Snape doesn’t even bother to look at him. “Several of the potions in this year’s text listed unsatisfactory ingredients. Sprout had some suggestions which I am implementing.”

“What does Slughorn think?”

This time Snape does look at him, his brow heavy with scorn. “As if he’d know dragon’s tongue creeper from a dung beetle. I’ve never wasted my time discussing potions with the man outside of class.”

Snape puts the fertilizer back and reaches for a roll of cellophane, which he begins to laboriously drape over the plants. Remus thinks of his own sideline project, which they never could have mentioned to any professor. He finds himself wishing, suddenly, that he could talk about the map with Snape. There are still a few problems -- little blind-spots that don’t register, fussy labeling issues -- all the fine-tuning of a massive undertaking that needs the clear eye of an outsider to set it to rights. And it would be pleasant to surprise Snape with such an impressive piece of work, win a little grudging praise – but it isn’t his secret alone, of course.

The cellophane is sticking to the cacti. Snape has to fiddle with it and Remus reaches out to help him untangle it from the purple-tipped spines, pricking his finger in the process. He sticks it in his mouth immediately by instinct, as it begins to tingle.

“Shit,” he mumbles around his finger.

“Stop that – let me see,” Snape snaps, grabbing his wrist and pulling it down. “You can’t put that in your mouth, idiot, you’ll poison yourself.”

Snape squeezes Remus’s finger painfully hard at the first knuckle, making a drop of blood well up, as he looks around for the ointment used to draw out poison. He flips the lid off a little amber jar and scoops out a little of the greasy yellow substance, smearing it over Remus’s finger. Remus feels it like frostbite, an icy burn that makes his skin go taut as a drum. There’s the creepy sensation of his blood pumping backward, pushing the tiny bit of cactus serum back out through the wound, and then his finger goes dead white. Snape lets go, and the healthy pink rushes back in again, tingling and warm.

Remus heaves out a breath, his heart pounding.

“That might have been deadly,” Snape growls. “What the bloody hell were you thinking, touching dangerous plants without gloves?”

“You didn’t have any – “ Remus tries to say, but realizes his tongue is swelling up rapidly. He stops, putting his hand to his mouth, and makes a coughing sound that turns into a sort of choke.

“Merlin,” Snape groans, fumbling for another jar. He pulls it open and swallows the contents, grimacing. Remus coughs hard, the swelling sensation moving back toward his throat. There’s a thudding heat in his gums and cheeks, and little spots in his vision, which is why he thinks he’s seeing things when Snape leans in, mouth open.

A funny time for a kiss, he thinks, closing his eyes. Snape’s lips touch his, and it’s nice for the moment before Snape begins to suck on his tongue, unmercifully hard.

Remus lets out a pained groan of surprise, trying to move away, but Snape is holding him still, hands at the back of his head. Snape keeps sucking with hard, wet movements that hurt like hell, but the frightening heat is beginning to recede, and Remus recognizes the bitter taste of antidote.

Another minute and the heat is gone, his tongue shrinking back down again. Snape doesn’t move away, but the pressure of his mouth is less painful, more like a kiss. Remus lets himself fall into the rhythm of it, his heart beginning to hammer. He risks moving his uninjured hand to Snape’s neck, where he finds that Snape’s hair is indeed bound back with the tie. His fingers curl gently underneath, sliding over warm skin, which is when Snape stops kissing him. Snape doesn’t move away, though, and his mouth is centimeters from Remus’s, so close that their breaths mingle.

“Don’t stop,” Remus says, without opening his eyes.

“It was just the antidote,” Snape breathes.

Remus kisses him. “Thank you.” He kisses him again. “Not the usual method of application, though.”

“I – “ Snape says, his words stopped by another of Remus’s kisses. “I wasn’t thinking – “

“Good thing,” Remus says, and pulls him close for a real kiss.

This time Snape relents, and they kiss for a long time. Remus feels an entirely different sort of heat begin to rise in his face, as their kisses deepen. Snape pulls away after a while, getting his breath. Remus kisses his neck, hands falling to the collar of Snape’s coat to push it off his shoulders. Snape moans as Remus bites his throat softly, and shrugs out of his coat. His robe is next, and then Remus works on the top button of the plain white oxford he wears beneath.

“Lupin,” Snape says, his breath catching.

“I think it’s time you called me Remus.”

“Re – I think we should … “

“I think you should sit down,” Remus whispers against his neck, followed by a lick. Snape’s fingers dig into his upper arms.

“What – “ Snape says, as Remus kisses him again, fiercely. Snape kisses back, making soft little sounds, and Remus feels the warmth run right through him. Snape feels so good under his hands and mouth, all muscle and hot kisses, and Remus is growing hard in his trousers, pressed against Snape’s hip. He reaches down, brushing against Snape’s trousers, and finds his rising erection, trapped crookedly under the tight fabric. Remus slides him straight and Snape groans, fingers clenched in Remus’s hair.

It’s a wrench to do it, but Remus breaks away, pushing Snape over to sit on a wooden bench behind him. Snape sinks onto the creaky planks with a distracted frown, and Remus goes to his knees, with only a passing worry for the dirt about to be ground into his new trousers.

“Remus – "

He leans in to kiss away Snape’s protests, hands undoing his flies. Snape’s kisses are shaky and sloppy as he tries to speak again.

“Please,” Remus whispers in his ear, as he reaches through the open zipper to feel Snape’s cock. It’s warm and desperately hard, but soft to the touch, skin like hot velvet. He slides his fingers lightly up to the head, damp already, and Snape bites his neck suddenly, his hands tight on Remus’s shoulders.

“Let me,” Remus says, but he’s already kneeling back down. He pulls Snape’s cock out into the humid air of the greenhouse, and bends his head.

This is the moment of truth, then. That time with Sirius was months ago, and his memories are dim and tinged with alcohol and James buggering him, but it can’t be that difficult – and those are the last memories he wants right now.

He shakes his head a little, then presses a kiss to the tip of Snape’s prick, where the foreskin is halfway drawn back. Snape hisses in a breath and doesn’t let it out, his hands digging into Remus’s hair. Remus begins to lick, tiny strokes with the tip of his tongue, then longer, lingering. He lets his lips close around the head and swirls with his tongue, working Snape’s foreskin down. The sensitive skin beneath is unbelievably slick and smooth, coated with salty fluid, and Snape winces away when Remus licks it.

Remus takes a deep breath in through his nose and slides his mouth down as far as he can, until his lips are touching crinkly hair. Snape’s prick is pressed into the back of his throat, soft and wet, and Remus tries to take him in farther. His throat won’t quite open, though, and he just stops for a moment, breathing.

Snape is one clenched muscle, Remus realizes; thighs like iron under his hands, belly taut against his forehead. He’s not even _breathing_.

Remus swallows once more, feels Snape twitch, and begins to slide his mouth up and down Snape’s prick, tongue flat against the soft ridge beneath. It’s hard to keep his teeth away, and he lets the top ones scrape gently along. Snape is still silent and unmoving.

_Does he even like this?_ Remus wonders, a flush rising in his cheeks. He lifts his head, frowning with worry.

Snape’s eyes are shut tight, his mouth open. He opens his eyes after a moment, looking dazed.

“Is this all right?” Remus asks quickly. “Do you – do you like it?”

And thank Merlin, Snape can only nod, fingers still clenched in Remus’s hair.

Remus bends down again and begins to suck this time, working his tongue and jaw. Snape makes a noise at last, a tiny _oh_ that goes right to Remus’s own prick, hard and twitching against his thigh. His throat seems to loosen over time, until he can feel Snape’s prick sliding in, more and more each time, the head soft and spongy. Snape starts to make more noises, breathy, guttural sounds that get louder. His hands are so tight in Remus’s hair that it hurts.

Then Snape lets out a hard groan and surprises Remus by pulling his head back by the hair. Through the sudden pain Remus sees Snape is coming, his dark red prick jerking as he ejaculates. It drips down and onto Snape’s lap, making a mess. Finally Snape lets him go and sags back against the table behind him, eyes closed.

Remus breathes hard, feeling vaguely ashamed and wishing he could have finished the job. He sits back on his heels, awkwardly.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I – was it not good?”

Snape opens his eyes, his brows drawn down in confusion. “What?”

“You didn’t let me – finish you.”

Snape looks down. “It seemed wrong. I didn’t want you to have to – “

“I wanted to.”

Snape doesn’t say anything. He brings up one of his hands and rubs his eyes, swallowing audibly. “I don’t – I’ve never done this. I’m sorry if I don’t do it the way you’re used to.”

“I’m not used to anything,” Remus says, shaking his head.

“Come off it, Lupin, I know about your parties – I’ve _been_ to one. You can’t tell me you’re a complete innocent.”

“So, I’m what – some kind of male whore?” Remus is surprised by the anger that burns through him, hot and ashamed.

Snape drops his hand and glares. “Don’t twist my words. That’s not what I said at all.”

“It’s what you _meant_.”

“What I _meant_ is that you and Potter and Black and Merlin knows who else have all been buggering each other for months, so forgive me for assuming you have more experience than I do.”

“I’ve never buggered anybody,” Remus snaps. “And you’re only the second person I’ve ever sucked off, so bugger your assumptions.”

“Oh, I’m so pleased to know I’m only the _second_ person you’ve sucked off. I’m sure Potter gave you plenty of instruction, though.”

“I’ve never done it to James.”

“I’m sure you wish you had. Would Potter have let you swallow his precious – “

“Why do you have to be such a _bastard_?” Remus scrambles to his feet, brushing dirt from his knees. “I’m not thinking about James when I’m with you, I’m not wishing I was with anyone else but you. That’s the _point_.”

“I’m to replace them? How nice for me.”

Remus stares at Snape, looking ridiculous with his trousers spattered with come, his limp prick poking out of his fly, yet somehow still proud, a glitter in his dark eyes.

“I don’t know what the fucking hell is wrong with you that you can’t believe someone wants to be with you, Severus, but I’m going to say it for the last time – I want _you_. And you can take that or leave it.”

Remus snatches up his scarf and coat and stalks out of the greenhouse, not waiting for the words that don’t come.

*****

He doesn’t leave his common room that night, eating a spare bag of crisps and some sweets his parents sent for Christmas. He shares with Liam, who devours most of a box of Turkish Delight before Remus can get it away from him. He then hints the boy should think about bed. Liam twists his face into a growl, sighs, and climbs the stairs to his room with big stomping steps, a little sphere of light bobbing behind him.

After that it’s pleasant to stretch out on the worn couch, twisting his body around the two burst springs, and watch pictures in the fire. He could make real pictures, but he’s felt distanced from magic once school let out; it always seems like more of a trick, a strain, rather than something part of everyday life. He’s sure he has his mother to thank for that, as she insisted he and his father learn to do everything the Muggle way rather than relying on magic, and it’s not the worst thing she could have done. Sometimes he has nightmares in which his magic is gone, and they’re nowhere near as bad as the ones in which his humanity has gone. Better a Muggle than a wolf.

Remus lets his mind drift, trying to stay away from thoughts of the greenhouse, but there’s a vague unsettled heaviness in his chest. He hates quarrelling. It’s worse with Snape, somehow; with James or Peter, they generally apologize with a smile and some treat from Honeyduke’s, or let the whole thing lapse, certain he’ll forget about it. They’re never angry with _him_. But Snape’s anger is hard and quick, durable as a diamond. He has the unhappy feeling that Snape could be angry with someone forever.

A soft scratching sound wakes him up, hours later, when the fire is just a few red coals. He lies there a moment, trying to decide whether he dreamt it, and then it comes again, from the portrait hole next to the fireplace. He frowns, getting up, not really daring to hope.

Remus swings the portrait open a few inches, peering into the dark corridor. After a moment he sees it’s Snape after all, expression unreadable in the gloom, and his heart leaps into his throat.

“Er, hi,” Remus says.

Snape’s hand comes up, resting against the portrait. Remus hears the Fat Lady give a little snort in her sleep.

Then Snape is stepping through, pushing the portrait open, and Remus has to stumble back to give him space. Snape kicks the door shut behind him, hard enough that the Fat Lady wakes up with an affronted yelp, and he reaches for Remus.

Remus kisses back, helpless. Snape isn’t shy now; he pulls Remus close, kissing him desperately. Remus feels the side of the fireplace at his back, the rough bricks catching at his pyjamas, and Snape pushes him hard against it, hands on either side of his face. He can barely keep up with Snape now, whose kisses are everywhere – wet, slick, and hot. Snape’s teeth graze the underside of his jaw, and Remus gasps, clutching at Snape’s hips.

“I’m sorry,” Snape breathes, licking Remus’s ear. “I am a bastard.”

”No,” Remus manages, and pulls Snape closer. Their cocks brush, through the thin fabric of their pyjamas, and he can feel the heat of Snape’s skin.

Snape kisses him again, deeply, and Remus can’t catch his breath, tangling his tongue with Snape’s. Snape grinds against him a little, and Remus moves his hands to Snape’s arse, holding him there.

“God, I want – “Snape says, breaking away. He drops his forehead against Remus’s and closes his eyes, moving his hips more.

“What?” Remus whispers.

Snape looks up again, his eyes wide in the dim light. Remus feels his heart leap again, wondering, wanting.

“Anything,” Snape mutters. He moves his left hand down from the wall and slides it under the waistband of Remus’s pyjamas and into his underwear. It’s cold from the fireplace bricks, but that doesn’t stop Remus from whimpering as Snape touches the head of his prick.

“Please,” Remus begs, as Snape begins to jerk him. “God – that’s good. _Please_.”

Pleasure builds in him like music, making his head ring. Snape’s body against him, warm breath in his ear, and the sure sensation of being wanted. His thoughts clear after a moment and he fumbles for the waistband of Snape’s pyjamas. He finds Snape’s cock and closes his hand around it, matching Snape’s pulls.

His elbow bangs into one of the wooden supports of the fireplace and he winces. Snape shifts until they move towards the door, Remus stepping on one of Snape’s bare feet. Snape grunts, and leans forward, pressing Remus into the bricks with his chest.

The rhythm shifts and they match now, hands moving together. Snape tips his head to the side and kisses him again, softly, less intense. Snape’s hand is wet with Remus’s own come, and it makes little slick noises as Snape pumps his cock. Remus grips Snape’s cock tightly, feeling the heat of it warm his hand, feeling Snape’s belly tighten and the soft cloud of hair as his knuckles brush against it.

Happiness bubbles up through him, a sort of wildness that makes him feel like laughing, and he grins against Snape’s mouth. Snape twists his hand on one upstroke and Remus is coming, his laughter turned to breathless gasps. His hand stills on Snape’s cock for a few moments as he tries to compose himself, supported against the brick wall.

After a minute, Remus pushes gently at Snape, until he takes a step backward, and turns so that Snape's pressed against the wall. Their eyes meet, Snape's wide and unsure, as Remus gets on his knees, brushing his cheek against the warm bulge in Snape's pyjamas.

"All right?" he breathes, and Snape slowly, slowly puts his hands on Remus's head, just resting.

Remus pulls at the drawstring of Snape's pyjamas, sliding them down. He can smell the musk beneath, hot and salty, and then Snape's prick is bare in front of him, swollen and jutting forward. It twitches when he lets out a breath, and he only hesitates for a second before opening his mouth, taking it in.

Snape clenches his hands in Remus's hair, not as hard as this afternoon, as Remus begins to move, working his tongue and lips. He's starting to get the hang of this, third time's the charm, and Snape's so close anyhow that it isn't long before he's gasping, straining his hips forward as Remus sucks, hard.

"Remus," Snape breathes, so quiet Remus almost thinks he misheard, and then Snape is coming.

Remus swallows, fast, trying to keep up, and it doesn't taste as bad as he'd feared. He can't quite manage it all, and he lets his mouth just fall open as Snape finishes, still licking the underside of his prick with light strokes.

After that he just rests his head against Snape's hip for a while, and his knees actually hurt, now that he thinks about it, but he wouldn't move for the world.

*****

The last days of the hols pass in a pleasant daze. Snape helps him finish his revising, and afterwards they just sit in the library in a pair of old armchairs squirreled away in the corner, talking idly. Remus can't bring him to the Gryffindor common room with Liam around, and of course the Slytherin dungeons are out of the question. He does sneak Snape in once more at night, and they press against each other in the darkness of his curtained bed, hands and mouths traveling everywhere, slow and dreamy. Snape's gone in the morning when he wakes up, but Remus is beginning to understand him a little better now.

Mostly they talk about magic, bits of old philosophy and alchemy Snape's read in ancient books, and it's all over Remus's head but he likes to listen, watching Snape get flushed and excited as he explains some arcana relating to hensbane or mugwort. He's so used to Snape's sneering, closed-off face, his wary attitude, that seeing him so relaxed and open never gets old.

Sometimes they talk about growing up half-Muggle, but Snape doesn't seem to have the same amused tenderness for his father that Remus has for his mother, and other than a few shared reminisces about near escapes with curious neighbors and the hell of attending a Muggle primary school, the subject keeps getting changed. It's another of those things Remus is learning, how Snape will warn him off when he get too close, but it doesn't seem so bitter and nasty to him now, just rather sad and lonely. His heart hurts when he thinks about what Snape's life must be like, barely tolerating his housemates, always squabbling with James and Sirius, when they can turn a room against him with the drop of a hat or the wave of a wand. The Slytherins always rally round him, of course, but Remus thinks it must be a blow to Snape's prickly pride to be defended merely out of house loyalty.

He doesn't say any of that, though, just listens and puts in a comment when he can, and kisses Snape whenever Madam Pince is out of sight. It's not a bad way to finish the holiday, cups of warm butterbeer on the table next to them, snow falling against the mullioned window, and seeing a small, shy smile on Snape's face after a particularly good snog.

The days end all too soon, though, and he wakes up on a Sunday, buried beneath three quilts and a feather comforter, to hear the sound of a train whistle.

Everyone's there by lunch, voices echoing off the walls of the Great Hall, painful and jarring after the weeks of quiet. Remus sits in his usual spot near the back, and soon he sees two dark heads cutting through the crowd, trailed by a smaller blonde one. He takes a fast bite of his shepherd's pie, nearly burning his tongue on the gravy.

"Oi!" James shouts, and then he's there, rubbing the top of Remus's head like a dog. "There's the old man himself. Survive the hols without us?"

Remus rolls his eyes, nodding and finishing his mouthful.

"Rolls!" Sirius cries, diving behind Remus to sit and take an entire basket. "Oh, delicious Hogwarts rolls, how I've missed you."

James straddles the bench, facing Remus, and reaches around to swat Sirius on the shoulder. "It's not like the mater didn't feed you up proper."

"These are different," Sirius says, spraying crumbs from an entire roll stuffed into his mouth. "They're more… _buttery_."

Peter catches up at last, quirking a smile at Remus, and hurriedly squeezes in on the other side of Sirius, reaching for a roll. Sirius slaps Peter's hand away, and Remus realizes that Sirius has grown the beginnings of a stubbly mustache, looking odd and too old for him.

"Got something on your lip, mate," Remus says. "Better have some milk to wash that off."

James crows happily as Sirius scoffs, affronted, and Remus turns back to James. "I told him it looked idiotic, but the prat thinks girls will like it," James says.

"At the Muggle club -- " Sirius starts, swallowing.

"Oh, the Muggle _club_ ," James sighs. "I'm dead sick of hearing about it. If you want to look like a Muggle, try putting a permanently stupid look on your face and wearing those ridiculous wide-bottomed pants that make you look like a sailor. The birds weren't even all that fit there."

"You were just looking for the ginger ones," Sirius says wickedly, and James rolls his eyes, the beginnings of a blush staining his cheeks.

"You went to a Muggle club?" Remus asks.

James shrugs. "Yeah, snuck out one night while my parents were at some party. It wasn't very exciting, just a load of shiny lights and terrible music and Muggles doing some strange dance with all this pointing. Sirius loved it, though. You know how he likes making a fool out of himself." He picks up Remus's glass of pumpkin juice and takes a long swallow, his lean brown throat working, and Remus remembers how easy it is to fall into the habit of watching James.

"Sounds terrible," Remus says, his voice faltering a little.

"Better than hanging around here, I suppose," James says, putting the glass back down, empty of course. "What on earth did you do with yourself?"

"Revising," Remus says. He glances away and sees Snape, staring straight at him across the hall. He's aware suddenly of James, legs spread, leaning in with that infuriating, casual, possessive attitude he takes with anyone he likes. Remus tries to do something reassuring with his face, but Snape's too far off to see, and after a moment Snape looks away, talking with Morty Parkinson.

"Now _that_ sounds terrible," James says in his ear, and Remus jerks in surprise. "Must have been lonely here all by yourself, Moony." He puts a hand on Remus's thigh, under the table, and Remus sits up very straight, his heart pounding.

"Not really," Remus says, pulling his legs in to stand up. "Actually, I've got a bit more work to do – "

"Now?" James says. "It's the beginning of term. We were thinking of having a few people up – "

" _No_ ," Remus says, and manages to struggle off the bench. James puts his hand on Remus's forearm, holding him lightly. "I've got loads of work to do. It's out of the question."

James gives him a strange look, and even Sirius has turned round to listen.

"Have your party somewhere else," Remus says, and yanks his arm away, harder than necessary. "Can't the Ravenclaws or Hufflepuffs play host for once? Why should we always have to clear away the bottles?"

"Well, if you really feel so strongly about it," James says, and shrugs, swinging his leg over to sit properly on the bench, his back to Remus. "Oi, Padfoot, go ask that Hufflepuff girl you like if we can hold our revels in her room."

"Come off it, Prongs, you know we can't get into the girls' rooms," Sirius grumbles.

"Maybe that soup strainer of yours will work some magic," James says, elbowing Sirius.

Remus stands there for a moment longer, trying to meet Snape's eyes across the hall, but it's too crowded. Eventually he just walks out, still hungry, and up the stairs to his room.

He doesn't see Snape at breakfast the next morning, but they've got Ancient Runes together, which thankfully neither James nor Sirius takes, so he hurries up the stairs with a hopeful heart. The classroom's almost empty and he takes a spot in the corner by Snape's usual one, closer than he ordinarily sits. He watches the other students come in, one by one, dragging their feet to the first class after the holiday, but doesn't see Snape until just a few moments before eight when he slinks in behind a few other stragglers. Snape gives the crowded room one wary look, just letting his glance skip over Remus, and sits on the opposite side of the room. Remus's heart falls about a mile, and he turns around to begin class, his quill frozen in his hand.

It was stupid, he realizes now, not to reassure Snape on Saturday night that nothing would change between them when the term started again. He remembers what they did instead, a brief match of wizarding chess which he ended by snatching up Snape's queen, in the midst of pummeling Remus's last knight, and tossing it across the room with a grin. Snape gave him a startled look, and Remus remembered that he wasn't James or Sirius, that he probably wasn't used to this kind of rough teasing, right before Snape tackled him onto the library floor. They didn't get up for some time, and after that it seemed awkward to ruin the closeness by reminding either of them of the next day.

Snape darts out of Ancient Runes before Remus can follow, and then they don't see each other until lunch, when Snape seems to make a determined effort to surround himself with as many Slytherins as possible. James and Sirius have Remus pinned down anyhow, whispering in a huddle about some revisions to the Map, and when Remus looks around at the end of the hour Snape is gone again.

They haven't got any afternoon classes together on Mondays, and Remus doesn't even see him in passing. At the end of the day he scours the halls without success, even working his way to a far corner of the castle to see if there are footprints leading out to the independent study greenhouse. There aren't, and he climbs the empty stairway to the tower feeling hollow inside. He can't believe they've ended up here again so fast, Snape moving farther away as he reaches after him with empty hands.

Remus manages to work a few Arithmancy problems before dinner, despite the distraction of a game of keep-away played across all four beds. After the third time Sirius stomps on his textbook, Remus sits up and hollers at them to give Peter back his bloody quill already and sit somewhere quietly for five seconds. The other boys retire to their own beds, but it isn't long before Remus feels an irritating tickle round his ears, and glances up to see a blue paper dart circling his head. Across the room, James bursts out snickering, and Remus finally snatches up his books and scrolls and huffs out into the common room.

An idea strikes him, though, and he spends the last moments before heading down to the hall scribbling out a quick message on a bit of parchment, which he folds hurriedly on the way down the stairs.

Sending the dart to Snape without being noticed is tricky. He's already cast the charm, so all it needs is a few words, but it's not exactly easy to toss a dart in the air when he's surrounded on all sides. Finally he seizes his moment when James and Sirius are playing at swords with their butter knives across a shrinking Peter, and tosses it into the air.

He holds his breath as it floats across the crowded hall. The locating spell is something he only worked out a few weeks ago, flipping ahead in his Charms text, and it hasn't really been tested. The dart dips dangerously low as it crosses the Hufflepuff table, but the direction is true and it slides right next to Snape's plate as it's meant to.

For a moment he thinks Snape hasn't noticed, and then he sees Snape's slim hand pick it up casually, without looking away from the soup he's spooning up. It only takes him a moment to read the sentence Remus scrawled, and then he balls up the paper in his hands. The minute before he looks up and meets Remus's eyes is endless, but his glance lasts mere seconds before he looks away again. Remus has absolutely no idea what Snape is thinking, and he spends the rest of dinner picking at his sausages, even his usual small appetite totally gone.

Nine o'clock comes and he's in the far corner of the library just as he said he would be. He would never have believed he could be so hot in the castle in the dead of winter, with his hands sweating, his collar too tight. It's like he's got a fever, nervously twisting a button on his cuff, scuffing his foot against the edge of the faded plush rug where it curls up under his chair, thoughts racing and squirming like grindylows. He counts down the time. He'll wait ten minutes. No, fifteen. It stretches to twenty and he's just about to leave when he hears someone coming around the edge of the nearest bookshelf.

Snape steps into view and he doesn't say anything. It feels like it's been weeks since they've seen each other, instead of just two days.

"Hello," Remus says, his voice a little unsteady.

Snape just nods, not smiling.

"I – look, it doesn't have to be this awkward," Remus says in a rush. "We've always been – friendly. We don't have to avoid each other."

"I'm not avoiding anybody," Snape says, his voice measured and unreadable.

Remus frowns, brushing aside the transparent lie. "I'm not saying we have to hold hands in the corridor, but I don’t think anything has to change. No one will ever guess."

There's a flicker of something hard and strange in Snape's eyes. "I'm sorry, has anything changed?"

Now Remus feels angry, and a little silly, sitting in the armchair like he's chastising a schoolboy. Snape doesn't look chastened at all, though, just his usual proud, prickly self. Remus pushes himself up and crosses the room.

"I don't want to do this again," he says. "I can't – don't make me keep guessing all the time. I've told you I want to be with you, and I thought that was what you wanted too. Not that you've ever _said_ anything like that."

Snape just keeps looking down at him, his advantage of two inches making Remus feel like the schoolboy now.

"All right then," Remus says at last. "Then I might as well – "

He moves to brush past Snape, but he's stopped by a rough hand on his elbow, holding him in place. They're close now, touching even, and it isn't a surprise when Remus turns and meets Snape's mouth, the kiss hard and a little desperate. The old, warm feeling rushes up again, that wonderful feeling of being wanted for himself, along with the thrill of doing this during the term, when they might be discovered at any moment, but there's a little twist of disappointment too. It isn't until hours later, when he's finally crawled into bed, his friends long since snoring, that he realizes it's the fact that once again, Snape hasn't said a word about what he really feels. For a moment Remus feels like a complete girl, worrying about _feelings_ , but it doesn't last long, and he worries over the thought until he finally falls asleep.

 

*****

The next few weeks pass in a sort of whirlwind, with his renewed scholastic efforts keeping him busy for most of the day, and stolen moments alone with Snape taking up as much of his evenings as he dares. It's too cold for the top of the Astronomy Tower, and even if weren't it would be too crowded up there anyhow. The greenhouse is too far away for winter, and the library increasingly well-frequented as the term wears on and the fifth and seventh years start revising in earnest for their comprehensive exams. They meet in odd corners of the castle instead, in locked storerooms, forgotten windowseats, once even the corner lift. It's rather exciting to sneak around, but exhausting too, to keep thinking of new places and making sure he's never gone long enough to raise suspicions back at Gryffindor Tower.

Snape doesn't seem to mind, though. During the day he's his usual standoffish self; they work together in cooperative silence when given the chance, are as calmly polite in passing as they ever were, and live in their own separate spheres the rest of the time. It isn't so much that Remus wants to spend time with Snape's horrid housemates, or that it would be any fun at all to have him round James and Sirius, but it does feel odd to pretend like they don’t spend hours snogging in closets.

It's gotten down to snogging, really, at this point; their conversations over the hols were lovely and Remus misses that different kind of closeness, but they can't risk being seen together too much and there are always much more pressing things to do when they meet in the evenings. Snape doesn't seem to mind, as he usually shows up with a flush in his cheeks and a brightness in his eyes, reaching for Remus hungrily. It's hard to complain about something that feels so good, and it's hard to complain when they move further than snogging some nights, reaching into each other's trousers and stifling moans. One night Remus comes so hard he can scarcely stand it, Snape's hand pressed over his mouth, and he thinks about it for days after. He goes down on Snape a few more times, but Snape doesn't seem anxious to return the favor, and it's just one more thing to worry about at night.

They do have to duck other couples sometimes; they're not the only ones trapped inside by the snow. Everyone else is different, though, because Remus has never seen two boys together. Not ever.

It's always seemed all right, somehow, for boys to snog boys and girls to snog girls when they're all pissed and nothing means anything. But everyone goes their separate ways after, and they pair off as usual. Remus doesn't know what to make of it, or the fact that he's never really been interested in any girl for long, not even Lily all those years ago. It isn't that he doesn't think they're pretty, or that they're too difficult to talk to. On the contrary, he's always felt that James and Sirius make the whole thing much too complicated and mysterious. Girls aren't much different from boys, and if he's never really been nervous around them, maybe it's because he's never cared enough to be.

He supposes the truth is that he's always been too wrapped up in James and Sirius to notice other people, even before he began to have a different kind of feeling for them, and that the fact that he's so wrapped up in Snape now is just one more piece of an obvious puzzle, which is that he might be exactly as bent as Sirius is always teasing him about being. But the real truth is that he doesn't think about it much at all.

Just like he doesn't think about anything while Snape kisses down his neck, under his collar, as they stand behind a long velvet curtain. The glass behind him is icy to the touch, and he can hear the March winds whipping around the eaves outside, carrying a fresh fall of late snow. The temperature has been below zero for days now, too cold even to take the weekly Hogsmeade trip, and everyone's a bit stir crazy. Even Snape has been eager tonight, almost careless as he whispered in Remus's ear at dinner where he wanted to meet. It was bold enough that Peter gave Remus a curious glance when Snape walked off, and James and Sirius looked at each other with knowing smirks.

Remus picked up his fork without looking at anyone and began to eat again, chewing calmly. James elbowed him after a moment, making him drop the potato he was trying to spear.

"What's that about then, Moony?" James asked with a jerk of his head.

Remus swallowed. "Arithmancy revising." He could still feel Snape's breath warm against his ear, whispering _Seventh floor. Twenty minutes. Hurry._

Sirius covered a snicker, and James looked at him, picking up his thought instantly. For the hundredth time Remus marveled at their connection, and for the first time it was with only the faintest bit of jealousy.

"Probably looking for another invitation to our party, Prongs," Sirius said, and James's eyes narrowed. "Didn't get what he was after last time."

"Our little Moony's too clever for that," James said, reaching out to pinch Remus's cheek. "He's got – "

"Just stop it," Remus snapped, swatting James's hand away. "Don’t you two ever get tired of hearing yourselves talk?"

Sirius and James looked at each other and shrugged. "No," Sirius said.

And now it's forty minutes later and he's never seen Snape like this, breathing hard and pressing Remus against the window with his hips and hands. He unbuttons Remus's shirt, underneath his tie, and then his fingers are sliding across Remus's skin, playing with the light sprinkling of hair on his chest, his suddenly-tender nipples. Snape bites at his neck, teeth blunt and scraping, and Remus is all over shivers, cold from the window at his back and hot from Snape's touch. He can only hold on, letting it wash over him, as Snape presses _there_ with his hips, making them both catch in a breath.

"God," Remus manages to say, tipping his head back, and Snape slides his hands around under Remus's shirt, scratching lightly at his ribs.

"I like you like this," Snape says in his ear, hot and close, and Remus gets the shivers again.

Remus wants to say something back, but he doesn't know what – he doesn't know what Snape wants to hear, what this is between them, whether it's dating or messing about or something in between. He wonders what would happen if he did hold Snape's hand in the corridor, if just his friends or everyone in the entire school would be horrified. He wonders if Snape would be.

"Feels so good," he breathes, instead of any of the things he wants to say.

Snape kisses him again, one hand holding him close at the small of his back, the other reaching up to slide into his hair. Remus clutches at the front of Snape's shirt, leaning into their deep, open-mouthed kiss, and the blood is pounding so hard in his ears that he scarcely hears footsteps coming down the hall.

He does hear, though, and so does Snape, and they stop just as the footsteps approach. Their window is deep enough that they're not pressed right up against the curtain, but it's a small space and it wouldn't take much movement for them to be found. Remus freezes where he is, holding onto Snape, holding his breath.

"No, it's one more down, you ponce," someone whispers, and Remus's throat closes up entirely, because he knows that voice.

"I’m the ponce?" Sirius hisses back. "Who's the one who made us spend an entire week recalibrating because he couldn't count how many passages were in the north tower?"

His heart starts pounding again, and he feels Snape swallow hard. Snape can't possibly know that James and Sirius are whispering because they're hidden beneath an invisibility cloak, but Remus is fairly certain Snape recognizes their voices. The last thing in the world he wants is for any of his secrets to be discovered this way, the cloak and the map and this – this _thing_ between him and Snape, and he swallows hard himself, trying to calm down and stay still.

"Shove over," James whispers. "Let me look."

There's a rustling sound, and then Sirius yelps. "What?"

"We're on the wrong hall altogether, idiot," James says. "Two flights up, and I saw Peeves hanging round that staircase earlier. We'll never get up there now."

"Don't see how that's my fault," Sirius mutters. "Anyhow, now what are we going to do?"

"Can't finish this section tonight…" James muses. "Might have to think of something else to do."

"Yeah?" Sirius breathes, so quietly that Remus can barely hear him. There's another silence, and suddenly a thump against the wall, just a few feet away from where he and Snape are standing.

"Excellent suggestion," James says, his voice low and intimate, and Remus hears the unmistakable sound of snogging.

Remus feels all the blood in his body rushing into his face, his cheeks utterly aflame. He can feel Snape's chest rise and fall quickly, his breath warm on Remus's cheek. The seconds tick by, and he shifts just the tiniest bit, though he can't imagine that they'd notice anything just now.

"Oh," Sirius groans quietly. "Yeah, right there, James."

Snape's fingers tighten in Remus's hair, his breathing speeding up. Remus can't imagine what he must think – without knowing about the invisibility cloak, it would seem like James and Sirius are just going at it in the open corridor. Even he can scarcely believe they're being so brazen, and something in his gut twists at the practiced familiarity of it.

Remus can hear the sounds of clothing being pulled aside roughly, Sirius panting, their wet, sloppy kisses. He's getting harder just thinking about it, remembering the feeling of their bodies on either side of him, Sirius's mouth on his neck, James's hand on his prick. It's been months, really, since he's thought about them like that, but all it takes is one reminder that they're in their own little world to make him feel like the lonely outsider all over again.

Snape shifts against him and Remus feels another shiver go through him. They're still pressed together, his shirt unbuttoned and Snape's hand underneath, and from the feel of it, Snape's just as hard as he is. He wonders for a moment if this is turning Snape on, if he's secretly attracted to the two people he hates most in the world. Then Remus is tipping his head back and they're kissing again before he has much more time to think about it.

For all the times he's snogged or done more up in his dimly lit room full of people, this feels the most shocking. Snape pulls him close, starting to move his hips slowly, and Remus tries very, very hard not to whimper. He's nearly lost in their kiss, tongues sliding against each other, but he can still hear James and Sirius close by, the jingle of a belt loosening, an "oomph" of exhaled breath. He thinks James must be pressing hard against Sirius, and then Snape presses him back against the window, the cold stealing across his skin. Snape pulls his hand out of Remus's shirt and slides it down to his belt, silently working it loose with nimble fingers. Remus can barely get his breath, just trying to keep kissing him back.

There's a sliding, brushing sound, and a pause. Then Sirius gasps, "Oh, fuck, James," and Remus's cheeks are hotter than ever, because he knows exactly what's going on, can _see_ James on his knees. His heart almost stops beating for a second, but lurches sideways as Snape stops kissing him, hesitates, and starts to kneel down.

If he could say anything without fear of being heard, Remus thinks, he'd say something grateful, or encouraging, or anything to make sure Snape knows exactly how much he appreciates this. But he can't speak, and all thought leaves his head anyhow the moment Snape's hot mouth closes around his prick.

It's better than he remembers, better than he'd imagined, wanking late at night. Snape doesn't know exactly what he's doing, of course, but he's moving his tongue, wet and slippery, up and down and up and down, and the sight of Snape working over his prick is too much for Remus to watch. He squeezes his eyes shut desperately, trying not to make a noise, trying not to thrust, his fingertips freezing on the glass behind him. Snape's found a rhythm now, swirling his tongue, and it could be McGonagall and the entire first-year class standing out there for all Remus cares, because he's so close to an absolutely shattering orgasm that he could just scream.

He doesn't scream, but he bites, hard, into the fleshy part at the base of his thumb, his closed eyes throbbing with the strain of keeping quiet as he comes in a great, overwhelming rush. He can feel himself spurting everywhere, but Snape doesn't seem quite ready to swallow, letting his mouth fall open and covering Remus with his hand. Remus takes a few slow, shuddering breaths, and in the silence he hears Sirius, no qualms about making noise, give out a low groan. The image comes to him again, Sirius's hands tangled in James's dark hair, James eager and hungry, his hands on Sirius's hips, both of them sweaty from being under the cloak. Something in him clenches tight, and then lets go, and he realizes at last just how little he meant to them, how little _anyone_ could mean when they have each other.

Snape stands up, a little awkwardly, and Remus smiles, letting his shoulders drop. It's hard to see in the darkness, but Snape looks nervous, like he's waiting for Remus's approval. Remus is happy to give it, happy to be here, and he kisses Snape, still smiling.

"Thank you," he whispers against Snape's mouth, and he really means it. He strokes Snape's hair, loose and spilling to his shoulders. Snape leans his forehead against Remus's temple, his breathing soft and even. Remus can feel that he's still hard, and slips a hand down to scratch, lightly, at the bulge in Snape's trousers.

Snape hisses in a breath, so Remus starts to work at the buttons of his trousers. He's just managed to get a hand in, his thumb massaging the soft, damp foreskin, when James growls, "Turn around."

He feels Snape tense up all over, and it's just like when they first heard James push Sirius against the wall, the shock palpable. There's a soft answering noise from Sirius, and the sound of a zipper being yanked down roughly. Remus can't quite believe what he's hearing, not even when James whispers a spell which Remus has never heard but understands instantly, not until Sirius is gasping, hitching in a breath each time.

Of course Remus knows that they've done this before; they told him so months ago. And of course they know new tricks and new spells, and after everything else, it's not so surprising that they'd be arrogant enough to assume an invisibility cloak would cover this too. But it's still unthinkable, each time James groans "Fuck" or "Sirius," that this is really happening five feet away.

He looks at Snape at the same time as Snape glances sideways, and his mouth goes dry. They've been matching James and Sirius move for move so far, but he hasn't got the first idea about how to do… _that_ , and the idea is more than a little unnerving. He can't tell what Snape's thinking, if it's what he wants, and before Snape can move Remus kneels down, taking Snape in and sucking hard.

Slow is better, more distracting and more likely to take longer so that maybe James and Sirius will finish and go away. He can still hear them, though, the little groans and intakes of breath, the sound of skin on skin. It's difficult to do this with his back to the wall, since Snape has nothing to brace himself against, but Remus makes it work anyhow, holding Snape's hips steady. This he can manage, the complicated movement of lips and tongue, and he can feel that Snape's enjoying it, his breathing growing short and sharp, his fingers sliding through Remus's hair again and again.

A few more minutes and he hears a low, broken cry from James. It's a soft sound, almost pained, and Sirius echoes it with a kind of hum, deep in his chest. Then they're silent, until Remus hears the sound of clothing being zipped and tucked.

"Down to the kitchens for a snack?" James asks, sounding like nothing has happened.

"Yeah," Sirius sighs.

Their footsteps fade, and Remus turns his attention back to Snape, twisting his head as he moves up and down, trying to make it good. Snape makes one little sound, which turns into a noisy gasp, his hips jerking forward as his come fills Remus's mouth. Remus keeps going, swallowing it down, until Snape relaxes, taking one stumbling step forward to lean his hands against the window and breathing hard.

Remus doesn't get up for a minute. His knees are a bit sore from the stone floor, but he doesn't know how to feel about what just happened and in truth, he's scared to find out what Snape thinks. It seems like something that might be better just to not talk about, like almost everything about them.

When he does stand up, Snape gives him a long, contemplative look, his pale features given a blue cast by the moonlight that's coming through the window, now that the clouds have been scattered by the wind. It's the same wary look that Remus is used to by now, but he also knows Snape well enough to see there's something behind it that he can't figure out.

"That was…" Remus starts to say, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Er. Not something I was expecting."

"No," Snape says. Remus can't read anything into that one word, much as he tries.

"But… good?" Remus asks. He puts his hands on Snape's chest as he asks, lightly, fingertips stroking down. It would be a caress, if he let it be.

In answer Snape leans forward, closing his eyes, and just rests his forehead on Remus's shoulder. It's so unexpected that Remus doesn't know quite what to do. He keeps his hands where they are, just reaching up to touch the hollow of Snape's throat with his thumbs.

Snape turns his head so that his mouth is right below Remus's ear. "I want to do that."

For a sick, crazy moment Remus thinks Snape means he wants James and Sirius, which is the worst thing he can imagine, and then he catches on.

"You do?" he asks, his voice cracking a little.

Snape nods against Remus's shoulder.

"Oh," Remus breathes.

"Have you…?" Snape whispers.

"Once," Remus says, his mouth dry. "I – I was pissed, I don't remember much."

"We can learn," Snape says, and kisses his neck.

Remus is coming all over shivers again, Snape's words mingled with what just happened making him tingly and light-headed. He thinks about Snape behind him, hands on his hips, pressing in, and the thought makes his stomach flip over.

"OK," he says. He strokes Snape's throat with his thumbs, gently. "We might need to – prepare a bit. Find somewhere a little more private."

"The greenhouse," Snape says, without hesitation.

"Right."

"Thursday?"

"No good," Remus says. "Prefects' meeting."

He wonders if that will rankle Snape, who was passed over for Malfoy this year, but Snape only says, "Friday then."

"Friday."

They stay where they are for another moment, and then Snape straightens up, looking like he's got a stiff neck. He meets Remus's eyes, and Remus manages a quick, rueful smile before peeking around the edge of the curtain.

"All clear," he says, buttoning his shirt. "We should probably hurry, it's getting on for midnight."

Snape reaches back to massage his own neck and nods, his hair falling in his face. "You first."

Remus, looks down, adjusting his trousers. They're a bit wet in front, but no one will notice in the dark.

When he looks back up Snape leans in and kisses him, fast. Remus scarcely has time to return the kiss before it's over and Snape has got that wary look again, only it's softened by his swollen lips, looking so tempting that Remus almost sneaks another kiss. But he doesn't, just slips out from behind the curtain, and climbs the stairs to the room where only Peter is sleeping, blissfully snoring.

*****

The next night there's a party, the first one in several weeks. Remus has wriggled out of the last two, claiming prefect's duties, but Sirius corners him over breakfast and makes him promise he'll come. Remus figures he doesn't have to _do_ anything, just have a drink or two and leave when no one's looking.

That's exactly what he does, after half a drink and ten minutes. Nothing seems less appealing then watching other people snogging, much less joining in himself, and it's hard to remember when this was the most exciting thing that happened to him all week. He leaves his cup on Sirius's nightstand, half-hoping it'll be knocked over in the night onto the bed, and goes down to the common room.

Lily's down there, along with a few fourth-years who are playing Gobstones at the table and looking up the stairs longingly every so often. She's reading some paperback novel, stretched out on the sofa, and she smiles when she sees Remus.

"Got bored?" she asks.

Remus just shrugs. "Got bored a long time ago. Sirius threatened to tear all the pages out of my Charms book if I didn't put in an appearance tonight."

Her smile grows, and she pulls up her feet so Remus can sit. He does so, heavily, leaning his head back.

"Speaking of Charms, you've improved lately," she says. "You must be working hard when you're out late at night. Have you been revising with someone in the library?"

Remus fights a blush. "Er. Snape." They do work in the library sometimes, if only to keep up a front, but the truth is that it's much easier to concentrate on schoolwork without worrying about James and Sirius all the time. He wonders just when this thing with Snape became _restful_.

Lily nods. "That's good. It's not his best subject, but he's still better it than almost everyone else."

"The 'almost' meaning you," Remus says with a grin.

She shrugs, not denying it. "But he's miles beyond us in other things – Arithmancy, Potions. I heard Dumbledore's even giving him private occlumency lessons."

"I didn't know that," Remus says, surprised.

"I think there's a lot you don’t know about him," Lily says. "You don't – well, the four of you don't exactly spend a lot of time _talking_ to him."

Now Remus really does blush. "That’s not – you know I'm not the one– "

"But you don't say anything, do you? You don't stop them."

"You really think I could?"

"You'll never know if you don't try."

Remus doesn't say anything, just looking down at his hands.

"I don't mean to be always nagging you," Lily sighs. "Merlin knows, it's James who needs it – he's not really as mean-spirited as he seems, just so _thick_ sometimes. But I do worry, Remus."

"You needn't," he mumbles.

"I'm glad you're spending time with Snape. We used to be – closer in second year, when we had Transfiguration together. He told me about his family, a bit, and it sounds like he's got an absolutely rotten father. I suppose he's sorry now he told me about it."

"He's like that," Remus says.

Lily tilts her head, looking at him appraisingly. "You can't press him about things, you know. He'll tell you or he won't, and you can't do much about it. But if you're kind to him, and truthful, he might trust you."

Remus feels suddenly uncomfortable, and avoids Lily's frank stare. "I'm not really worried about him trusting me, Lil – we're just revising together." He lets out a little laugh, fake and scornful, trying to sound light-hearted.

Lily just keeps looking at him. "Well, you might consider getting to know him better. He needs a friend, and you could use a new one." She goes back to her novel, and Remus sits there for a little longer before wandering over to join the fourth-years. Lily's too clever for her own good, sometimes.

The week passes slowly, giving Remus all too much time to think about Friday night. He tries to remember everything he can about that time last term, but it was all so fast and new, and he wasn't exactly taking notes. He thinks they'll need some kind of lotion or oil, and certainly a blanket, since the greenhouse floor is just packed dirt. It seems rather embarrassing and cold-blooded to be planning all this out, though, and he wonders if Snape is thinking the same thing.

Friday morning he wakes up with a fluttery feeling in his stomach, his mouth dry. Everything will be different this time tomorrow, he thinks.

Today the day flies, too fast for his liking, and Snape catches up with him in the corridor between Charms and Potions. Snape glances around to make sure no one is paying any attention, then presses a note into Remus's hand. The pressure of his hand, cooler than Remus's own, sends a little shiver down Remus's back, and he realizes he's been on edge all day, feeling prickly and electric.

He reads the note in Potions. It's short, scrawled in Snape's inky handwriting, and it's the first thing Snape's ever written to him. It says _7:00 by the west entrance. No need for a light, the moon is full. –SS_

Remus goes cold as he figures out exactly why he feels like all the hairs on his body are standing straight up. It's the fucking moon, and he isn't going anywhere tonight but that damned drafty shack.

There's no chance to talk to Snape until dinner, and Remus positions himself at the entrance to the hall that the Slytherins use, hoping to catch him early and alone. Eventually Snape comes into sight, trailing behind the other students, and his eyes widen a little when he sees Remus waiting. They step together into a little alcove, out of the crowd.

"About tonight," Remus says, his mouth dry. "I'm such an idiot. I – I forgot I promised to tutor the fifth years. They're going mad about their OWLs already."

There's just the faintest hint of a reaction on Snape's face, a bit of surprised hurt, and then he composes himself. "Oh. Well, then."

"Yeah. Sorry."

Snape licks his lips. "I suppose tomorrow – '

"There's no Hogsmeade trip, again. Too many people about." Remus thinks about how he feels the day after the transformation, and imagines he'll spend most of the day in bed with a pounding headache and his skin all over itchy.

"Right," Snape says. There's a chilly silence.

"Next Hogsmeade weekend," Remus finally blurts. "The weather's meant to clear by then. It'll be warmer anyhow."

Snape nods, slowly. "Two weeks, then."

"Yes," Remus says, emphatically nodding himself. "I think that's best, don’t you?"

"Of course," Snape says, with a small, narrow smile. "If you think so."

"All right." Remus casts a nervous glance back over his shoulder. "Well – "

"We should go our separate ways for dinner."

"Yeah. Look, can we meet in the library or something this weekend? I'd like to see you, even if there are other people around." Remus chances a quick touch to Snape's forearm, more of a brush than anything else.

He can see Snape's jaw work a little, and then Snape nods again. "Come find me on Sunday after lunch."

Remus thinks that it's maddening to be here in this crowded hall and not be able to say any of the things he wants, but then, he can't really say those things when they're alone either. All he can do is smile one more tight smile, and then turn back to his own table.

"Is Snape blackmailing you, then?" Sirius asks when Remus slides in next to him. "Does he know your little secret?"

"What?" Remus asks. "No. No, of course not. Why would you say that?"

"Because you always turn purple whenever you talk to him."

"I do not," Remus says. "Peter, tell him I do not."

Peter looks surprised at being appealed to, but glances between James and Sirius before answering. "Well, you do, Moony. James was saying – "

"James was saying _what_?" Remus asks, with glare for the boy in question.

"That you look like an aubergine," James says lazily, his head propped on his hand. "Or a grape."

"A _skinny_ grape," Peter puts in.

"Yes, thank you," James says. "A very skinny grape. Don't you ever eat anything these days, Moony?"

Remus shrugs. "You know I'm never very hungry before the moon."

Beside him, Sirius smacks his forehead with his palm. "The moon! That's tonight, isn't it?"

James grins. "Anyone fancy a moonlit run? Don't forget your snowshoes."

Remus can't cover a smile at the idea of a stag with snowshoes strapped to its hooves. "Are you three really all right to come along? I know it's freezing – "

Sirius snorts and slings an arm over Remus, squeezing his shoulder. "Don't be daft. We didn't spend years studying ancient texts written in bloody Akkadian to leave you alone in that shack. You'd claw your own eyes out."

"Though we might have to put Wormtail here in a sock," James laughs. "Wouldn't want that tail to freeze and fall off."

Peter blushes, but looks pleased at being mentioned at all.

Remus takes in a breath. "Thanks, mates. You know I always – "

James waves a hand in the air. "Please. Nothing's going to split up the Marauders."

"As long as that ponce Snape can leave you alone for five minutes," Sirius puts in. "Honestly, Moony, it's positively creepy the way he looks at you."

"He's all right," Remus says, frowning. "You ought to – talk to him once in a while. Or at least leave him be."

James just stares at him. "Talk to Snivellus? I think that's even dafter than imagining we'd stay in on a full moon."

Remus opens his mouth, then ducks his head. "All right."

Sirius takes his arm away to go back to devouring his pot roast, and James and Peter fight for the last batwing biscuit.

*****

The strangest thing about full moon nights is that his friends are most truly his _friends_ then, companions who love and protect him, and yet he can't remember a thing about it. When he wakes up on Saturday morning, alone in the shack but tucked up snugly in bed, he lies there and looks at the ceiling for a long, long time. It would be lovely to have memories of those nights, the four of them roaming wild and free over the Scottish moors, but it's something that only the other three can share. Sometimes it feels like a metaphor for his whole bloody life.

And of course he wonders how much longer he can keep the secret from Snape, who's clever and knows Remus better than almost anyone else at school by now. The Marauders pegged it after only a year and a half, and Snape's at least twice as perceptive. It's a problem.

He doesn't have to deal with it just yet, however, and they spend Sunday afternoon revising in the library with a touch of their holiday camaraderie. Remus thinks about their secret meetings all the time, in class or in bed, but sometimes he thinks he likes this even better, working together or talking about interesting things or just reading in friendly silence. It's nice to not have to hide or pretend for once, even though sometimes he thinks that anyone watching them could guess what's going on. He can't seem to stop smiling at Snape, for one thing, and sometimes their knees touch under the table and he goes tingly all over, just from that slight contact. He'd feel stupid about it all, if he didn't guess from the blush under Snape's collar that he felt the same way.

All too soon, though, it's Monday, and then Tuesday, and it's with a mix of excitement and dread that he watches the heavy grey snow-clouds drift away, replaced by softer, whiter ones that spread across the blue sky. The days are noticeably lighter now, the air warmer, and the courtyard is slushy instead of iced over solid. Spring is in the air and in the classrooms, and everyone's in high spirits, lively and boisterous and longing to be outside.

The Hogsmeade trip comes exactly when it's needed most, and he can see McGonagall rolling her eyes in relief as she shepherds the students down the path. From the dormitory window he sees Sirius run up to James with a handful of slush, which he drops down James's neck. James promptly scoops up a handful himself, but sneaks up behind Lily instead, walking arm and arm with Holly Corner, and rubs it in her hair. She whips around, her scarf swinging, and James doesn't move, a grin frozen on his face. Lily stoops, fast, and before James can move she chucks grey slush straight into his face, then stomps off with Holly. It's perhaps the most childish thing Remus has seen her do since they were actual children, and James just stands there like a pillock, staring after her and rubbing his cheek. Sirius gives him one look, then catches up with Peter, another slushball in his hand.

Remus stops worrying about his friends, and decides to worry about himself.

He hasn't seen Snape since yesterday afternoon, when Snape passed him another scribbled note in the corridor. They're to arrive separately, fifteen minutes apart, and Snape said he'd take care of everything. Remus's stomach lurched a little at that "everything," even as he felt relieved of the awkward burden of preparations.

It's a quarter past twelve already when Remus goes out the front entrance, wearing only one jumper instead of his customary two or three. The air is still chilly, but it doesn't have that icy, bone-freezing edge of the dead of winter, and he's even a little warm in his scarf. The walk out to the greenhouse warms him up even more, as does his steadily thumping heart, and he's rather sweaty by the time he pushes open the door, carefully skirting the red, venomous blossoms, which seem sinuously pleased to see him.

The warm air of the greenhouse does nothing to cool him off, and Remus wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. He stands in the doorway for a moment, being inspected by the plant, and finally walks farther in.

Snape is sitting on the bench in the far end, near his little plastic-covered seedlings, and he glances up. Remus smiles, nervously, and wanders over to the potting table. He shrugs out of his coat and drops it on a stack of wooden pallets.

"They're coming on nicely," he says, being careful not to touch. "Er, not that I know much about plants."

Snape doesn't say anything. He's taken off his coat and scarf, and they lie on the bench next to him, with his shoes on the ground. He's tieless too, with a dormitory blanket spread at his feet, and Remus feels like his throat is so tight he can hardly get his breath.

"This," he says, and stops.

This is _awkward_ is what he wants to say, because it feels odd to be meeting somewhere so open and light when he's become accustomed to snogging in corners. Snape stands up, slowly, and Remus feels grateful for the cue. He crosses the room to the edge of the blanket and stops, toeing off his shoes. Snape is still several feet away, and thank Merlin, he's the one to step forward, smiling a little. He puts his hands on Remus's shoulders and draws him onto the blanket, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded as he leans in for a kiss.

This is easy. Snape tastes familiar, feels familiar, as Remus slides his hands up his biceps, along his shoulders, onto his neck beneath his tied-back hair. The little breathy noises Snape makes are familiar, and this starts to feel like a good idea again.

It's less easy when Snape starts to tug him downwards, because they can't get down gracefully at the same time. They leave off kissing and Snape kneels down first, leaning on his hip and hand, knees tucked up to the side. Remus follows, mirroring his position in reverse, and they begin to kiss again, long, hot, open-mouthed kisses. Snape reaches up to grab Remus's scarf, dragging it off, and turns around to lay it on the bench. Remus thinks for a moment about the way their two scarves look together, red and gold and green and silver, before Snape turns back to him.

Remus can feel his heart pumping, his head going dizzy, and it's enough to make this feel less real, less frightening. They unbutton each other's shirts between kisses, reminding Remus that they've never been even half-naked in front of each other. Snape's chest is pale and narrow, but so is Remus's, and he runs his hand through the dark, curly hair beneath Snape's throat. Snape trails his finger down Remus's chest, breaking off their kiss when he runs across a line of scar tissue.

"Fell against an iron fence when I was little," Remus whispers, in answer to the question in Snape's eyes. It's an old lie, practiced many times, dull enough to cut off further questions but plausible enough to explain the evenly-spaced scratches across his chest. He's just thankful that he doesn’t have more of them.

It takes a few seconds but Snape nods, leaning in for another kiss.

Remus lies down first, pulling Snape with him. They lie face to face, pressed together, and Remus tries to remember everything about this, to remember for later. Snape's breath against his cheek, the warm, moist air smelling of earth and green things, the way Snape's chest rises and falls quickly when Remus scratches down it, his skin cool and a little moist too. After a minute Snape rolls over, pressing Remus hard against the ground with fierce kisses, and Remus panics for a moment, thinking again of what's ahead. He wants it, really, but it's scary as hell.

Snape lifts himself up on one elbow, reaching down to undo Remus's belt and trousers. Remus lies beneath him, breathing hard, watching his face. When Snape gets his prick free Remus bucks his hips up without meaning to, and Snape smiles a little.

"Wait," he says, and leans down.

This time Remus can watch. Snape crawls so that he's between Remus's knees, hands on either side of Remus's hips, and sucks Remus off eagerly, moving his head up and down with steady strokes. He's obviously thought about this or looked it up in books or _something_ , because he's doing things with his tongue that make Remus whimper, twisting and clutching at the blanket. One sharp cry causes Snape to look up, and that's finally too much for Remus, who closes his eyes.

He keeps them closed as Snape sits up, tugging Remus's pants and trousers down. Remus lifts his hips again and Snape pulls them all the way off, taking his socks with them. Remus holds his breath, realizing he's totally naked in front of someone else for the very first time.

Eventually he has to open his eyes, and Snape's just looking at him, sitting back on his heels. The intensity in his eyes makes Remus blush all over, heat pooling in his face and chest. He sits up quickly, hands reaching for Snape's belt.

They kiss again as he works down Snape's flies, squeezing Snape's prick as he does it. Snape stands up to slide off his clothes, so that Remus is kneeling right in front of him, and when Snape's done stepping out of his trousers Remus's mouth descends hungrily. Snape makes a sound that's very close to a laugh, and squeezes Remus's neck briefly before pushing him gently away.

Snape turns to put his clothes on the bench. Remus stares at his arse, pale and smooth. He wonders what his own looks like, the thought making him uncomfortable.

When Snape kneels down again he's got a little vial in his hand. At Remus's look, he shrugs a little. "Something I found a recipe for in an old textbook."

Remus can't help smiling back. "Must have been some textbook."

Snape kisses him, one hand at the back of Remus's head, and it's good and scary and too fast and too slow. Remus breaks away first, looking at Snape uncertainly, and then lies down on his side, his back to Snape. He waits for Snape's touch, but nothing happens. The silence stretches on long enough that it's even more uncomfortable, and Remus's stomach clenches up horribly.

"I," Snape says. He coughs.

Remus sits up on one elbow, slowly, and looks back over his shoulder at Snape, who's gotten somewhat flushed. Part of him feels a tiny bit of relief at the idea of not going through with it, even as the thought of being rejected makes him sick at heart.

"I thought you would be the one – " Snape says, and stops again.

Remus's jaw drops, his eyebrows going up. He's never dreamed that Snape would want it this way.

"You – you do?" he stutters. "You want me…?"

Snape nods, biting his lip.

Remus waits for one breath, considering, then quickly sits up. He kisses Snape hard and Snape grasps his shoulders, fingers digging in as he kisses back.

"Yes," Remus breathes against Snape's mouth. "If you want me to."

"I do," Snape says with a sort of gasp, and pulls at Remus's lower lip with his teeth. "Please."

Remus draws Snape forward gently, and they lie side by side again. He slides his hand down over Snape's hip and pulls him in close, cupping his arse. Their pricks press together, bare for the first time, and he groans against Snape's throat.

It's awkward again, as he tries to figure out where to start, but Snape is looking at him with wide eyes, so he takes a breath and moves his fingers back, sliding up and down. Snape twitches a bit at that, but he closes his eyes. That makes it easier somehow, so Remus kisses Snape's throat again and keeps moving his fingers, pushing in a little farther each time. He can tell that this will only work so far, and he'll need the little vial anyhow, but he keeps it up, feeling Snape relax against him.

Snape angles his head down, kissing the top of Remus's forehead, until Remus finally tips his head up to meet Snape's mouth. They kiss once more, slow and gentle, and Snape breaks it off almost reluctantly, with a soft look in his eyes that pierces Remus right through. Then he rolls onto his stomach, knees drawn up, bracing himself on his forearms with his face hidden against the blanket.

Remus swallows, hard. _If you're kind to him, and truthful, then he might trust you._ He reaches for the vial of oil.

He's worried that his hands will be cold, or that Snape will decide he's changed his mind, but Snape just hitches in a breath when Remus touches him, trembling a little. He breathes faster as Remus works his fingers in, trying to be gentle. Remus remembers James, fierce and impatient, and he stops, bending forward to kiss Snape's lower back, the expanse of pale skin smooth and cool beneath his lips.

"All right?"

Snape just nods, and moves his hips back a fraction.

Remus starts moving his fingers again, Snape starting to feel softer against him. The oil is slick and a little greasy, making it easier as he goes on, and when he crooks his fingers upwards Snape jerks, gasping. He does it again and Snape groans this time. Remus can feel all the blood in his body going to his cock, making it throb and ache.

"Please," Snape says at last, his voice low and muffled.

Remus moves up to his knees, feeling weak and light-headed with excitement and nerves. He strokes himself with the oil, trying to catch his breath. Snape's back is rising and falling quickly beneath him, and Remus runs his fingers down it, leaving little trails of oil. He leans forward.

They both make a noise when his prick touches Snape, soft, throaty sounds. Snape moves his legs apart a bit, and Remus pushes in.

Or tries, rather. Despite the last few minutes he meets more resistance than he'd expected. The head of his prick seems too wide, even as the oil makes everything slick, and he stops for a moment, grasping Snape's hips. He doesn't know what to do, and he can't think how he managed to take in James so rough and so fast. It hurt, he remembers now.

"Just go," Snape says in a strained whisper.

"Don't want to hurt – "

" _Please_."

Remus's legs are trembling, and his prick is throbbing, and he goes for it, pushing hard and leaning into it. He slides in at last, the tight heat different than anything he's felt before, and he can't hold in a groan. Snape is breathing hard and Remus leans forward, laying his cheek against Snape's shoulder.

"All right?" he whispers again.

Snape nods. "Just – wait a moment," he breathes.

Remus waits, brushing his cheek against Snape's shoulder, pressing a kiss there. He feels Snape relax, letting out a long, shuddery breath, and then Snape lifts his hips a little, pressing back against Remus. It makes Remus's prick twitch, and he starts to move, with slow, small thrusts that feel better than anything he could imagine. Snape relaxes even more and Remus speeds up, his heart pounding. He needs to thrust deeper, can't wait anymore, and he sits up again, holding Snape's hips tighter.

It gets better, unbelievably, and he closes his eyes, letting his mouth fall open. Snape moves with him, moving to meet Remus's thrusts, and when Remus leans back to angle upwards Snape lets out a shocked cry. Remus does it again, and the cry is a moan, long and drawn-out as Snape tenses around him.

" _Fuck_ ," Remus says, and goes faster.

He remembers the lonely, frustrated feeling he had with James, and slides one hand down to wrap around the base of Snape's cock. It's surprisingly soft, and it takes a few strokes for it to harden in his hand again. He's having a hard time doing that and moving too, though, so eventually he lets go, losing himself in the rising pleasure of sliding in and out, the downstroke a little harder. His head spins, white lights dancing against the darkness of his still-closed eyes, and he's so close he can scarcely stand it.

"Remus," Snape groans, and that's it, he's coming hard, gasping and shaking. He can't stay upright after and he sags forward to rest against Snape's back.

After a long, sweaty moment of trying to slow down his breathing, he realizes he's probably too heavy, and that Snape hasn't finished yet. He drags himself ups and pulls out, making Snape shudder, then pushes at Snape's hips until he rolls over onto his back.

Snape looks dazed, pleading. Remus shoves his knees apart and drops down to take his prick in his mouth, going as deep as he can. Snape groans again and tangles his fingers in Remus's hair. He twists his hips as Remus swirls his tongue and swallows him a little farther down, trying to move his head so his throat opens more. He manages it at last and Snape slips down, thick and hard. Remus doesn't move, adjusting, wanting to stay like this forever, but he presses his tongue against the underside of Snape's prick and Snape cries out, coming down Remus's throat in a salty rush.

Remus pulls his mouth away slowly, licking once more, and then lays his head on Snape's hip, hands on his thighs. They're hot and sweaty, just like the rest of him.

The sweat cools slowly, until Remus is actually shivering a little. He finally lifts his head and crawls up, lying alongside Snape, who still has his eyes closed. Remus moves in close, hesitating for a moment before laying a hand on Snape's chest. Snape moves his arm up to cover Remus's hand with his own. It's absurd, but Remus realizes that they've never really held hands before this.

"We should certainly do that again," Snape says at last.

Remus smiles. "Yeah. Although perhaps we could – try it the other way?"

Snape opens his eyes, turning to look at Remus. "Do you want to? I thought you seemed rather… hesitant."

"Er," Remus says. "The time before. It wasn't – it was very different to this."

Snape keeps looking at him, so Remus heaves a sigh and goes on. "James isn't exactly considerate at the best of times."

"Ah," Snape says.

"And I was pissed, like I said," Remus adds. "And I didn't exactly mean for it to happen. It just … happened."

Snape frowns, and Remus can see him working it out. He feels his face getting hot, because it wasn't really like they took advantage of him. Back then, he thinks, he was willing to take almost anything they'd give.

"Well," Snape says finally. "I'm not Potter."

"No," Remus says, shaking his head. "You're not."

"Shall we meet here in two weeks then?" Snape asks after another pause. "That's long enough to allay suspicions."

Remus smiles at his phrasing, but Snape's not wrong; if Sirius and James are starting to wonder about how much time they spend together, it's probably for the best to lie low for a while.

"Let's come at night," he says. "They'll think it's odd if we miss two Hogsmeade trips in a row, don't you think?"

"I hardly think anyone would notice if I never went to Hogsmeade again," Snape says, sounding more resentful than he has in weeks.

"Well," Remus says. "I've been meaning to go to Honeyduke's for some time. They've got in these new imported chocolates from Switzerland."

Snape quirks an eyebrow at him. "Candy, Lupin? You aren't serious."

"I've got a sweet tooth," Remus says, sitting up and kissing Snape, a quick, friendly peck. "Come on, let's see what's for lunch."

They trudge out into the snow ten minutes later and Remus feels different, a lightness in his chest. He has the crazy urge to take Snape's hand again, and before they come in view of the courtyard he does hook his pinky with Snape's for just a moment. Snape gives him a startled look, but he smiles before taking his hand away.

*****

Remus can't stop grinning to himself at odd hours during the next few days. The sun is warmer each morning, and he thinks about taking strolls around the lake in the spring, flying kites and watching clouds. Spring comes late in Scotland, but as March ends and April begins he can see crocuses and snowdrops poking up through the melting frost. Soon the air will smell of heather and peat, carried in on fresh breezes, and they won't be trapped inside all the time.

He sees a bit of the same springtime feeling in Snape, when they pass each other in the halls, or during the two times they manage to sneak off. Snogging feels just as good, but there's less of a desperate edge to it now, replaced by something softer. They each know what the other likes by now, and Snape doesn't seem so afraid to be quiet together, just touching each other. Remus doubts he'd ever actually be affectionate, but it's close enough.

Oddly, it's easier to be around the other Marauders now. Now that James and Sirius are just his friends, nothing more, he can relax and have fun the way he used to, except for Sirius's increasingly-frequent, snide remarks about Snape. They're trying hard not to speak to each other in class more than absolutely necessary, but Sirius still notices every time.

"Watch yourself around Snivellus," he says in Charms one day, after Remus has handed Snape back his textbook, fingers brushing secretly beneath. "Wouldn't put it past him to steal your notes."

Remus rolls his eyes. "Since I nearly failed Potions last term, I really don't think he'd bother."

"Ah, so you admit he'd copy off you if you were any good," Sirius crows.

"He's not like that," Remus says for the hundredth time that week.

James and Sirius exchange a look, then snicker into their textbooks.

"If Snape's so good at Potions," Sirius says at breakfast on Friday, spinning a doughnut on his finger, "best that you avoid him altogether. I heard he drugged two first-years and deflowered them last spring. Chained in the dungeons, no less."

All three Marauders turn to look at him. "That's laying it on rather thick," James says, frowning. "He's a dreadful little worm, but that's a bit beyond."

Sirius shrugs, taking a bite out of his doughnut. "Don't know how else he'd get anyone to look at him twice."

Remus's cheeks burn, and he's just about to say something when Peter pipes in. "Except for Lily."

Three heads swivel towards Peter now. His eyes widen at the sudden attention.

James breaks the silence with a forced, hearty laugh. "Naughty Wormtail, telling lies. I'll pay you back for that one."

"It's not a lie," Peter insists. "I saw them snogging once in the library in second year. She looked like she liked it."

Remus watches James's face, hoping his own doesn't look the same way.

James shrugs at last, looking elaborately bored. "Ah, well, the temporary insanity of the prepubescent female. Thank Merlin she's got better taste than that now." He goes back to his porridge, hunching over the bowl.

"Snivellus and the fair Miss Evans," Sirius says. "One wonders how he pulled that one off. I told you he knows some Dark potions, Moony."

Sirius elbows Remus, and Remus shoves back. "Stop being such a pillock."

"Of course," Sirius goes on, ignoring him. "I'd always pegged him as a queer. That's why I'm looking out for you, Moony; you should be saving yourself for that special boy."

Remus glares at him once more, and then turns to his breakfast. It's rather rich for Sirius to be going on about queers, given what he heard a few weeks ago.

The rest of the day is more peaceable, though, and he remembers how much fun it is to joke around with them in class, drawing funny little animated sketches, mimicking Slughorn behind his back. After dinner they put on a few records in the common room, attracting the other students, and a sort of impromptu discotheque breaks out. Remus lies on the couch as usual, given his utter lack of coordination, but James and Sirius more than make up for his absence. Even Peter bobs his head to the music with a pleased smile on his face.

Lily pokes her head out of her dormitory, a quill in her hand and ink on her blouse. James gestures for her to come down, and she shakes her head, lifting the quill.

"One dance," James shouts over the music, index finger raised. She looks left and right, heaves a sigh, and comes downstairs, tucking the quill behind her ear.

She dances three dances, not exactly with James but near him. James reaches for her waist and she eludes him, twisting away. Remus can't help smiling at the game they're playing, feeling for the first time that it will be a good thing when she gives in at last. James _isn't_ mean-spirited, just rather arrogant, but Lily will cure him of that quickly, and James really does love her. He supposes Sirius must feel differently about it, but the writing is most certainly on the wall.

When the music stops so that someone can change the record, Lily walks over to the couch, breathless and red in the face. She flops down next to Remus's feet and tweaks his stockinged toe.

"Aren't you going to dance?" she asks.

"The world is a much better place if I stay here," he says. "I might put someone's eye out with a flailing elbow."

"Come on, you can't be as bad as all that," she says with a laugh. "Don't you like dancing?"

"Not really," Remus says. He puts his arms behind his head, stretching casually. "So. You used to snog Snape in second year."

Lily goes even redder, and reaches up to twist a piece of her flyaway hair. "What? Who – who told you that?"

"Peter says he saw you snogging in the library."

"Peter! That little sneak."

"It's the _library_ , Lil," Remus says, rolling his eyes. "He had a right to be there."

She grins ruefully. "It's just that – we only did it a few times. Just my luck to be caught on one of them."

"Why were you sneaking around?"

She shrugs. "I don’t know, it seemed natural at the time. He can be rather secretive."

"Mm," Remus says, nodding. "So, just a few times?"

"Four or five," she says. "Why the sudden inquisition?"

"I just found it _interesting_ ," Remus says. "Given what you told me before. I take it you got tired of being secretive."

"Actually," she says, after a pause. "He's the one who got tired of it. Or, I should say… "

Remus tilts his head forward, raising an eyebrow.

"He found out I was Muggleborn," she sighs. "I guess he didn't know before. He didn't even get angry with me, just turned on his heel and walked out. It was months before we even spoke to each other, and we're still not very friendly."

Remus's stomach lurches and drops. He can only swallow, his mouth gone dry.

"That's why I said that before, about being truthful if you want him to trust you," she says, looking down at her hands. "For all that he's so secretive, I think he takes it very much to heart when people lie to him."

"But he's got a Muggle father," Remus says at last.

"And a mother from a good wizarding family," she reminds him. "Somehow it makes a difference to him. I can't think why."

"My mum's a Muggle."

"But you're not Muggleborn. It's not the same."

"It's exactly the same to me, Lily," Remus says sincerely, worried by the look in her eyes. "I hardly even think there's a difference between us and people like Sirius, though I suppose they'd say otherwise. But I can't imagine anyone would think badly of you just for being Muggleborn."

She bites her lip. "Some people… well, I keep hearing things, Remus. People say some dreadful things these days."

Remus thinks of Liam last December, and can't help sharing Lily's worry. "I'm sure it's just the usual rubbish," he says, though, trying to be comforting. "Slytherins are bastards, you know that."

She nods, putting on a bright smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "Don't say that to Snape. Anyhow, I'm going to dance some more – are you sure you won't come?" She holds out her hand.

Remus shakes his head. "Thanks, but it's much safer if I don't."

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Lily says, and walks to where James is waiting.

He stays on the couch for the rest of the evening, just watching his friends. They do care for him in their rough way, and anyhow, he's got Snape now, which is miles better. His marks have gone up, and if it wasn't for being a bloody werewolf, his life would be almost perfect.

_Learn to read a fucking calendar, Lupin_ is his next thought, because of _course_ tomorrow is the moon and he's forgotten, again, and it's going to be even harder to explain the change in plans this time. For a wild second he imagines telling Snape the truth, but Lily's words still linger, and all he can see is Snape walking away from him.

Remus oversleeps terribly on Saturday morning, which dawns crisp and clear. The snow is hardly even slush anymore, just a bit of grey frost on the ground. There are still a few drifts here and there, and Remus sees the first-years building the term's last snowmen as he hurries across the halls, hoping to catch Snape at breakfast. The Hogsmeade group is gathering in the main entrance, and James plucks at Remus's sleeve as he rushes by.

"Oi, aren't you coming? We're about to go."

"Breakfast!" Remus says breathlessly. "Some prats forgot to wake me up."

"But you looked so adorable, we hated to wake you!" James calls after him.

Remus keeps running, and slides to a halt in the door to the dining hall. He sees Snape just standing up at the far end, alone for once, and he waves, jumping up a little. Snape sees him, glances to either side, and crosses the hall with agonizing slowness.

He looks wary as he comes up to Remus, but bites back a little smile when he's close enough that no one can see. Remus's heart aches at what he's about to do.

"Listen," he says. "About tonight's, er, revising. I'm sorry, I'm _such_ an idiot, but I forgot tonight won't work."

Snape blinks. "Why not?"

Remus hasn't had time to think up a reason, and it's easiest just to blurt out part of the truth. "I'm meant to be doing something with my friends. I promised."

"Your friends," Snape says slowly.

"Don’t – I'm not choosing them over you or anything. I just promised. And I hardly see them these days." He puts a hand on Snape's shoulder and Snape moves sideways, shrugging him off.

"It's your choice," Snape says.

"It's not a _choice_ ," Remus says, shaking his head. "Can't we do it tomorrow night instead?"

"I've got a meeting with Professor Sprout," Snape says shortly.

"Some other night? Soon?" Remus can hear the desperation in his voice. "I _want_ to, believe me."

Snape looks at him, uncertainty stealing into his carefully blank expression. He opens his mouth, then closes it fast, looking over Remus's shoulder.

"Moony, we're leaving _now_ ," James says, grasping Remus's arm. "You can eat some of those chocolates you like so much when we get there." He notices Snape for the first time, and his eyes narrow.

"Potter," Snape says.

Remus looks between them, feeling a bit panicked. "Look – "

"If I weren't about to go socialize like a _normal_ person, I'd have a devastating insult for you, Snivellus," James says. "I'll just leave you to imagine what it might be. Come _on_ , Remus."

James pulls at Remus's arm, and he takes a staggering step backwards. He gives Snape one last pleading look. "Can we meet to revise on Tuesday? Or some other night? I'm free all week."

Snape bites his lip and nods, almost imperceptibly, before turning away.

"Honestly, I think you've gone moon-mad," James grumbling, still dragging Remus along. "I know he's supposed to be aces at Potions, but you can't need a good mark _that_ badly."

"Stop being like that," Remus snaps, pulling away. "He's – he's my _friend_. So just keep your opinions to yourself."

"Who's got opinions?" Sirius asks as they walk up to the entrance hall. "Nasty things."

"Moony," James says. "About Snivellus. Thinks he's not half-bad."

Sirius claps a hand to his forehead. "Not that git again. Honestly, we're going to have to do something about this, Prongs. Next thing you know he'll be leaving poisoned chocolates for poor unsuspecting Moony."

"You can just shut up too," Remus says. "Both of you. We're friends, and I don't want to hear anything more about it." He glares at both of them, and after a moment both James and Sirius burst into laughter.

"He's always such a beast before the moon," James says, ruffling up Remus's hair. "Lucky for him, so are we."

"Still doesn't excuse Snivellus being such a nutter," Sirius grumbles darkly. "Someone ought to do something."

Remus feels terrible all day, poking listlessly through the merchandise at Zonko's without interest. James sneaks up and rubs some kind of pastille into Peter's hair that turns it purple and prickly like a hedgehog's, and Sirius buys five new kinds of exploding snaps, but it all seems childish to Remus by now, just silly toys. Outside, on the way to Honeyduke's, Sirius nearly gives him a heart attack by tossing a snap into his path, and Remus swats him, hard.

"Easy, mate," Sirius says, raising his hands. "Wait for tonight."

"I'm dead sick of you all treating me like some kind of overgrown puppy before the moon," Remus snaps. "I'm still _me_ during the day."

"And who's that?" Sirius asks, not teasing for once. "I feel like I don't even know you anymore. Being friends with Snivellus? Don't you care about us at all?"

"Don't be stupid. Can't I have other friends?"

"Not _him_ ," Sirius says passionately. "Haven't we hated him since first year?"

"Why?" Remus asks. "Do you even remember?"

"He's a Slytherin," Sirius says dismissively. "And a prat. And he's been following us around all term, trying to get us expelled."

"That's ridiculous."

"He's seen us working on the map. One day he was staring at us across the library with his creepy eyes. And I heard him asking Archibald Bones if he'd seen you going out somewhere at night."

Remus feels his cheeks burn, knowing the explanation for Snape's behavior perfectly well. "So he's suspicious. We _are_ up to something, Sirius. And given the way you and James treat him, there's no reason he wouldn't want you expelled."

"Me and James?" Sirius scoffs. "You're not exactly an innocent bystander, Moony."

"I'm not – " Remus says, and stops. "I just wish you'd leave it alone. We're practically in our last year of school. Isn't it time we started acting a little more mature?"

"What, by being nice to a bastard like Snape and turning our noses up at Zonko's tricks? That's not my idea of being mature."

Remus shakes his head. "Just leave it alone. He's not up to anything."

"Wish I had your rosy glasses, Moony," Sirius says. He pauses, then grins. "Wouldn't it be funny, though, to see him try to follow you through the Willow? He'd get that beaky nose knocked clean off."

Remus only looks at him with exasperation, and stalks off to buy chocolates.

He avoids his friends when they get back, and Snape too, lying on his bed and staring at the ceiling. Peter comes in timidly to retrieve a book, and Remus just gives him a small, tired smile before staring up again, his hands folded on his stomach.

It's hard to believe he was feeling so satisfied with life last night. His life is a _lie_ , hiding one secret from everyone but his friends, hiding another from them as well. Being a werewolf is something he'll just have to live with, but he wonders, drearily, if maybe it wouldn't just be easier to end things with Snape. He's tired of quarreling with his friends, tired of finding excuses to sneak away, tired of the constant struggle to figure out what's going on between them. They'll be out of school in a year, perhaps going their separate ways, and in any case he'd have to let Snape know his other big secret if they were… together afterwards. He can't imagine that would go over very well.

But it's just as hard to forget the look in Snape's eyes two weeks ago, as soft and gentle as Remus has ever seen him, and the way he feels in Remus's arms when they're kissing. It's about _him_ , he knows, and not whatever game James and Sirius were always playing at. And more than that, it's about Snape too, because Remus knows he's come to truly care about Snape. Throwing that away seems unthinkable.

With a feeling of dread he realizes the light is going in the room, and he hauls himself off the bed, going to the infirmary to meet Madam Pomfrey as usual. He doesn't see anyone, thankfully, and she wraps him in a dark blanket as they go out a side door, a walking stick in her hand for pressing the little knot on the willow. Remus keeps his head down, but as they start down the hill his eye is caught by a dark head just peeking round the edge of a tree. At first he thinks it's James or Sirius, waiting to join him in the shack, but then he sees the profile, and his stomach flips.

Remus ducks his head further, hoping Snape can't recognize him all bundled up like this, but he doesn't really believe it. He worries all the way down the tunnel, his feet scuffing on the floor, roots brushing his head, the earthy smell reminding him of the dozens of times he's done this, the terrible mornings in the years before his friends became his companions. He touches the place where scars ridge his chest and remembers the first time he saw them change, becoming three strange animals before his eyes.

He'll have to speak with Snape tomorrow, no getting around it. The last thing he wants is for it to be a choice, Snape against his friends, but everyone seems determined to make him choose. Just one more night, that's all he asks.

*****

It's barely light out when Remus wakes the next morning to find himself naked on the floor. He's freezing cold and stiff all over, his cheek pressed against the dirty boards, and it takes him a minute to remember where he is. He hasn't woken up like this in months, not since fifth year, and he winces as he sits up, his arm stinging. It's a bite mark, he sees when he looks down, a circle of angry red dots on his forearm. He blinks, his head throbbing.

When he glances around the room, it looks just as destroyed as he feels. The bolster is ripped to shreds, feathers floating everywhere, and both of the old cane-bottom chairs have been reduced to bits of chewed-up wood. They didn't used to keep any furniture here in the old days for just this reason, but Remus feels grateful it's here now, or his wolf self might have taken out even more rage on his own body.

The question still remains as to why on earth he spent the night in the shack, rather than out on the grounds. His sluggish brain works it out at last – they didn't come.

Remus tells himself that something must have held them up; perhaps Filch was patrolling the corridors too closely, or something went wrong with their transformations. He knows it's tricky to get the timing right, as someone needs to be in human form to let him out the door of the shack, and if they were late it might have already been too dangerous. There were a hundred possibilities.

He still doesn't feel any better as he finds his clothes in the wardrobe, thankfully unharmed. His body aches in a way he'd forgotten, and it chills him to realize just what life would be like without his friends.

No one's around when he slips out of the tunnel, having pressed the inside knot that stopped the flailing branches for a moment. He walks across the dewy grass, trying as usual to pretend that he was just out for a morning stroll, and goes in the same side entrance as he came out. It's too early for breakfast, so he goes up the stairs to the dormitories instead, planning to have a shower and maybe even a quick nap. Or a nice, hot soak in the prefects' bathroom, he thinks.

It's quiet in the common room, but when he opens the door to his dorm he hears raised voices. James and Sirius are standing in the middle of the room, clearly having an enormous row, and Sirius is doing his usual trick of standing up tall and leaning over James menacingly. They both stop when he opens the door, and he sees Peter too, huddled on his bed looking worried.

"Morning," Remus says, closing the door behind him. "Er, where were you lot last night?"

"I'm so sorry," James says, after a pause. "We couldn't get there without being seen. Pomfrey and Dumbledore were outside and it was too late by the time they cleared off."

"Plus the detentions you got," Peter adds.

"What?" Remus asks, putting a hand to his aching head. "Why were Pomfrey and Dumbledore out there? Did they see you?"

James and Sirius exchange a furious glance. "James is the one who called them outside," Sirius says tightly.

"I did not," James snaps. "Pomfrey saw me running towards the Willow and got Dumbledore."

"Same thing."

"Well I wouldn't have _been_ running if you weren't such a stupid, thoughtless prat!" James shouts, pushing at Sirius's chest. Sirius shoves back and grabs James by the elbows. James wrenches out of his grasp and takes a step back, still glaring.

"Peter…" Remus says, sagging against the doorway. "Please tell me what the hell is going on."

"Er, Sirius – " Peter stammers.

"Is a bastard – "

" _I'm_ not the bastard – "

"He, er, told Snape he should follow you. To the Willow."

"He did _what_?" Remus asks, jerking up again. "Sirius?"

Sirius takes in a breath, rolling his eyes comically, and shrugs, spreading his hands wide. "It was a joke. I told you, he's always hanging around, and I thought it was time someone warned him off."

"By getting him _killed_ ," James spits.

"Since when do you care about Snivellus?" Sirius demands.

"I don't want him dead, you idiot. And if Moony had eaten him, how long would his secret have been safe? Did you think of that? Do you want him expelled?"

"He wouldn't have been expelled," Sirius snaps, shoving at James's shoulders again. "Dumbledore – "

" _Enough_ ," Remus says, pressing his hands to both his temples now. "Both of you. Just tell me – did something happen to Snape?"

"Nothing," Sirius says. "He got the door open like I told him, and he went into the tunnel. But the big hero here got there in time." He slaps James on the shoulder, and James elbows him, hard, in the chest.

"This idiot was gloating when we were getting ready to go out," James says. "I got down there as fast as I could, Moony. He was almost to the door, and I guess he could hear you – growling. He wasn't at all pleased to see me, but I – well, I told him the truth, Moony, because it was the only thing I could think of to stop him opening the door."

"And?" Remus says, holding his breath.

"We turned around, him cursing at me all the way, and when we got out Pomfrey and Dumbledore were waiting. Snape told them all about it, what Sirius said, and of course I had to admit we knew about the shack. I didn't say a word about the transformations," he adds, with a hard look at both Sirius and Peter.

"You might as well have," Sirius growls.

"And after?" Remus asks, his heart sinking.

James shrugs. "He thought we were all in on it, of course. I've never seen him so angry. After I saved his bloody life, you'd have thought he'd be a bit grateful, but he actually tried to _hit_ me, only Dumbledore held him off."

"At least you won't have to worry about him following you around anymore, Moony" Sirius says. "I don’t think even Snivellus would go after a werewolf."

Remus's jaw drops, and there's a horrid moment when all three boys stare at Sirius. He suddenly seems to realize what he's just said and flushes, running his hand through his hair.

"Er, sorry," Sirius manages. "I didn't mean it like that, Remus. You're a great – "

"Just shut up," Remus says, low and threatening.

"Moony – "

"I'm not speaking to you, Sirius." He looks at James. "Thank you for – what you did. I can't think what would have happened…" He stops, his throat closing up.

"Of course, mate," James says, looking worried. "Look, it's only Snape. It's not like you haven't got any other friends."

Remus looks at each of his friends in turn. Sirius, arms crossed, his handsome face not looking remorseful in the slightest. James, rueful and apologetic, his eyes earnest and concerned. Peter, curled up on the bed in apprehensive misery.

"Yeah," Remus says, heavily, and goes down to the hall for breakfast.

*****

Remus has no idea how to find Snape, or if he's even ready to face him. He keeps running over speeches in mind, explanations about how it was for Snape's own safety, how it might even get him expelled if he knew, but they're all lies. He _lied_ to Snape for months, and he can't pretend that Snape will forgive him.

He knows that Snape will never come find him on his own. Snape's got too much pride for that, and Remus remembers Lily's story, the image of Snape turning on his heel and walking out. Perhaps it would be better just to let it go, and avoid Snape for the next fourteen months or so. It can't be that difficult.

More lies. Remus finally stands up from the nearly-empty breakfast table, pushing his plate away. The sun is streaming in through the windows, and he can tell it's going to be a lovely spring morning, the first of the truly warm days. It would be pleasant to go outside, but he's really got to take a bath first, and then do the hardest thing he's ever had to do.

He has an idea, soaking in the lavender-scented bath, and when he's dried and dressed again he goes back up to the dorms. Sirius and James are in opposite corners of the common room, backs to each other as they write their Charms essays, and Remus ignores both of them. Peter's still in bed when he gets up there, frowning over his Transfigurations book and eating a bag of crisps. He looks up when Remus comes in, his small eyes sad and wistful.

"I hate it when they row," he says.

Remus nods absently, pulling out his wand to work the spell on the lock of James's trunk.

"It was worse before you got here," Peter goes on. "Sirius was saying all these filthy things about you and Snape, and James kept saying it wasn't true, that you'd never do that."

Remus casts the spell and the lock springs open. He pulls the lid up and bends to rifle through the contents, pushing aside the invisibility cloak, the dirty magazines, the illegal fireworks, to find the red leather cylinder he's after.

"But – you like Snape, don't you Moony?"

Remus turns to look at Peter, still crouching low.

"I mean, _like_ , like, the way James likes Lily."

"Peter – "

"I'm not – I pay attention, you know," Peter stammers, going red. "I'm not as stupid about people as I am about schoolwork. You like him."

Remus just drops his head, nodding a little.

"It's all right," Peter says. "I won't tell. Only – what's it like, being with another boy? Is it – "

"Peter," Remus says again, sighing. "I don't really want to talk about it."

"You're taking the map, then?" Peter asks, lifting his chin to gesture at it. "To – to find him?"

"For all the good it will do," Remus mutters. "Er, if they ask, tell them I'm just doing some work on it, all right?" he asks in a louder voice.

Peter nods. Remus gets up, his knees creaking, and charms the trunk shut again. He puts the map into his coat pocket, and moves towards the door.

"Good luck," Peter says. Remus smiles sadly and goes out the door.

Remus unrolls the map in a side corridor, eyes flicking over the little moving dots. There are still some stupid misspellings, and he resolves to do actual work on it soon. Sirius is so bloody _lazy_ sometimes. But he's not thinking about Sirius, he's looking for Snape, and ten minutes go by before he realizes Snape is nowhere in the castle.

He hadn't expected it to be this easy, but maybe, he thinks with a little flutter of hope, Snape wants to be found after all.

The walk to the greenhouse is far, far too short. Remus feels sicker with each step, and can't decide whether it will be worse if Snape is inside or if he isn't. He stands outside the glass door for a moment, taking deep breaths, nerving himself, while the red-flowered plant weaves a little dance, curious blossoms opening. For a wild moment he thinks about letting the plant do whatever it wants, being poisoned or strangled instead of speaking to Snape. Then he pulls the handle and opens the door.

He can smell the same wet, earthy smell inside as always, and the memories rise up, fast and overwhelming. Snape kissing him by the cuttings, lying on the blanket together, Snape moving beneath him. Tears sting his eyes, and he has to stop for a moment to compose himself.

Snape is working with the little pots, just as Remus imagined, and he doesn't look up when Remus walks in. He must have heard the door open and shut, Remus thinks. Remus stands there for a minute, just watching Snape's face in profile, his pale hands moving smoothly and steadily over the plants, watering and trimming. His tongue feels thick in his mouth, and part of him wonders if they could just stay this way forever. It might be enough.

"Severus," he says at last.

Snape doesn’t say anything, just keeps snipping away at a little vine with tiny blue flowers.

"I should have told you," Remus says quietly. "I know that. It was – I'm dangerous, and I didn't want you to… You could be expelled just for knowing about it. Dumbledore made me swear not to tell anyone, not even my friends."

Snape starts sprinkling some kind of powder on a plant with wide, pink-spotted leaves, carefully covering every centimeter.

"I should have told you," Remus says again, feeling desperate. "I wanted to so, so many times. But I didn't know – I was afraid how you'd take it. I should have trusted you."

Snape's hands finally still, and then he moves them to grasp at the edge of the table, knuckles going white. Remus sees his throat working hard.

"No," Snape says, his voice strained. "You were exactly right. And I never should have trusted you."

Snape turns to look at Remus, and the look in his eyes makes Remus recoil. He's never seen Snape look so bitter, so completely hateful.

"I – " Remus stammers. "I didn't mean to _hurt_ you. Please believe me. I only wanted – "

"To make a fool of me. To set me up so your idiot friends could try to get me killed."

" _No_. I had no idea -- _no_ idea. Sirius – "

"It's fucking Potter who was behind it and you know it," Snape spits out.

"He saved – "

"He arranged to play the hero, I know. I saw the smug grin on his stupid face."

"He got detention – "

"A _detention_ ," Snape says. "What an appropriate punishment for attempted murder."

Remus shakes his head, hard. "James – "

"Don't waste your breath defending Potter. Do you think I really care? He's not the one who lied to me." Snape's voice cracks on the last words, and Remus takes a step forward, reaching out. Snape jerks away, raising his hands.

"Severus – "

" _Don't_. You've had your joke at my expense. I'm the one who should be feeling like an idiot."

Tears spring into Remus's eyes again, and he rubs at his eyes with the back of his hand, trying to get control of himself.

"I'm sorry," he says helplessly, sniffling. "I don’t know how to make you believe me. I – I'm crazy about you. You _know_ that."

"I don't know anything," Snape says, shaking his head slowly. "I don't even know you."

Remus hears the echo of Sirius's words yesterday and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. It's the choice again, only this time it seems like he's lost everything.

When he opens his eyes again, Snape looks as miserable as he feels, the icy mask gone, but he still moves away when Remus takes another step forward.

"Is this really it, then?" Remus whispers. "We're finished?"

"There is no _we_ ," Snape hisses. "Do you really think I'd want to be with a werewolf?"

It's like a slap in the face, and Remus just stands there, staring. Snape stares back, but there's nothing encouraging in his eyes, only that same hateful, wounded glare.

"I suppose not," Remus says, dazed. "I'm sorry, Severus."

He looks one moment more, like taking a last drink of water before crossing a desert, and turns away. It's a long way to the door, and even though it's warm when he gets outside, he shivers and shivers and shivers.

*****

"Evans actually smiled at me today," James says, climbing higher in the tree. " _And_ winked."

"Must've been something in her eye," Sirius says, scrambling up after James.

"She's coming round, mates. Only a matter of time."

"She must have worked through every eligible bachelor in school, Prongs, if she's coming round to _you_."

"Oi, are you saying you've snogged the love of my life, Padfoot?"

Sirius smirks. "I'll never tell."

James kicks at the bark on a branch until it falls on Sirius's head, sticking in his hair, and Sirius yelps, then reaches for James's dangling foot.

Remus stops watching them and looks back down at his Arithmancy text. He's read the same page over five times and still doesn't understand a word; getting through exams next week is going to be very, very interesting. Peter has given up on Potions entirely and fallen asleep on the grass, stretched out on his stomach with his head on his arms. Remus smiles, closing Peter's book for him.

He's thankful for exams, really. It's given him something else to worry about for the past month, exams and the map and keeping James and Sirius out of trouble. They always go mad in the springtime, and he's had to talk them out of several pranks which he's fairly certain would have gotten them expelled or killed, or perhaps both. He's actually starting to look forward to not being Head Boy next year, if it gives him a break from minding his friends like small children.

This is the first time he's had his heart broken, and he's been surprised to find that he can go on after all. The first week was dreadful, avoiding Snape as much as Snape avoided him, lying sleepless in bed night after night, but as the days went by he found other things to think about. It's self-preservation, he knows that, but it's still rather astonishing.

There are days, though, when he wishes he still felt like dying, because he knows he's getting over Snape. Their times together were some of the happiest he can remember, once they stopped quarreling and pushing each other away, and he hates to think of those memories growing faint. Or worse, having them turn meaningless as he gets older, just some silly passing fancy in his youth. It's a bit early to be worrying about that, but he still feels like he's losing some part of himself when he wakes up happily in the morning, like nothing has happened.

He does have his friends, though, and he's never been more grateful for that. James and Sirius are having a battle with leafy sticks overhead, and Peter is snoring gently. Soon they'll have lunch, and perhaps take a ramble around the lake afterwards, or lie on their beds telling jokes and listening to records. In a few weeks they'll all go their separate ways, but he's promised James and Sirius a visit between full moons, and even Peter has asked him to come to the seashore for a week in August, the usual wistful look in his eyes. The weekend parties have trailed off as exams draw closer, and if things with Lily are really as good as James brags, Remus suspects there won't be any parties at all next year. He's sorry for Sirius, but not very much; he's still angry with him, even though he knows by now that it was only a matter of time before the inevitable happened.

A sudden gust of wind kicks up and blows the top pages of Remus's notes away. He scrambles to his feet, stepping over Peter, and chases after the parchment. It's heavy enough that it doesn't go far, but he still barely manages to save one sheet from drifting into the lake.

Remus is still on his knees, brushing the dirt away, when he sees motion in his peripheral vision. He looks up and Snape is standing a little way off, under another tree. Snape looks at him, none of the anger in his eyes from before, just a kind of somber sadness. It's shocking, after weeks of no contact, and Remus licks his lips, feeling his heart start to pound. For all that he's been able to move on, there's almost no part of him that doesn't want to go over there right now and snog Snape in front of everyone, pressing him back against the tree and whispering apologies in his ear.

He's actually getting to his feet, nerving himself, when he hears James call out behind him.

"Lunch, Moony!"

Remus turns to look, and James waves Remus's Arithmancy book at him, indicating that he's taking it in. Remus nods.

When he looks back, Snape is still there, but Remus can't read his expression anymore. He hesitates. It's impossible to tell what Snape would do if he went over there right now. Maybe they'd have the same conversation they had in the greenhouse. Maybe it would be even worse.

Remus clutches his notes a little tighter, and turns to follow his friends up the hill.

*****

Later, after graduation, after one war and then another, after losing almost all his friends to death and dark wizardry, Remus will remember that day by the lake and the choice he finally made. There will be another choice, not between friends and lover, but between staying quiet and alone or taking one last chance. He'll knock on a door late at night, in a house which only people who know about it can find, and the silence before it opens will be endless. The man who opens it will look haggard and thin, taxed beyond endurance, and Remus will wonder if there's anything he could have done differently to stop it from coming to this. They'll look at each other for a long moment, and Remus will have exactly the same feeling that he did as a boy, that there's no telling what might happen. But he'll speak anyhow, with nothing to lose this time and a lifetime of regrets to urge him on, and he'll find out.


End file.
